North and South Retold
by Sophia Quills
Summary: North and South, but more of the love story with some new characters and new events.
1. Chapter 1

Margaret Hale hated Milton the moment she saw it from the train carriage.

Margaret and her father were moving from pastoral Helstone in the South of England to industrial Milton in the North of England. They might as well have moved to another planet as far as she was concerned.

Milton loomed over the horizon like an angry dark cloud. All she could see was hundreds of chimneys spewing black smoke into an already dark and sooty sky. As she watched the city from the train window, she thought the only way to capture it on paper would be to use layers upon layers upon layers of dark charcoal till the pristine white drawing paper faded entirely.

Her impression did not change when she entered the city. It was grimy and crowded. It was as if all the colours had been drained out and the only ones left were shades of grey. The people of Milton were as foreboding as the city. Most of the people she saw on the street were factory and mill workers. She saw very few people of her own class, except for Mr Andrew Webster who met them at the railway station to take them to their new house and hand over the keys. He worked for Mr Thornton, the man who was responsible for finding them the house and the owner of one of the largest cotton mills in Milton.

Mr Webster was brisk and efficient as he saw to their luggage and informed them that their furniture had arrived safely and has been kept in the house. He told her about the cook – "a most excellent woman" – and the maid – "an efficient girl" – that had been arranged for them. The final decision to retain them or not would of course be Margaret's. He left them at the door of their new house and made his farewell with a "Welcome to Milton" to Mr Hale and "We are not as lovely as the South but I hope Milton will grow on you" to her.

Grow on her, indeed!

Within a day, she felt as if the walls of her new house were closing in upon her. Their house was in a respectable district but the buildings were all tightly packed together. Considering that a wall was all that separated her from her neighbours, Margaret had a hard time not imagining who they were or what they were doing. It was most discomforting. In Helstone, her closest neighbours lived a lush field away.

In the mornings, Margaret would wake up half-expecting to feel the sunlight on her face and then she would remember that she was in Milton. How her eyes and soul hungered for a spot of green grass or clear blue sky. Margaret busied herself setting up the new household. It saved her from thinking about Helstone and the life that she had left behind. Her life had undergone a great change - from the daughter of the Helstone parsonage to the daughter of a schoolteacher in an unknown city - but Margaret refused to complaint aloud. After helplessly watching her father struggle with his doubts for years, she had fully supported his decision to quit the church. As dear as Helstone was to her, no consideration was more important than her father's happiness.

And so she threw herself into her new life, determined to make the best of their new situation.

When Margaret began moving the furniture to the proper rooms, she realised that the key-set that Mr Webster had given them did not include the keys to some of the rooms in the upper floors and asked her father to speak with Mr Webster about it. But her father returned late that night and told her that he had forgotten about it completely.

Unlike his daughter, Mr Hale liked Milton almost immediately. On the morning after their arrival, Mr Hale went to the school where he was going to join as a teacher. The idea of educating young minds and introducing them to the works of Homer, Shakespeare and Plato excited him considerably. But his new job took up quite a lot of his time. He had much to do in the initial few days of settling in and starting at the school and had understandably forgotten his daughter request to speak with Mr Webster.

The cook's room was one of the rooms that could not be opened and she had been complaining non-stop about having to sleep on the kitchen floor. The cook had finally issued an ultimatum: if she didn't get to sleep in her own bed tonight, she will resign from her post. There were other households in Milton that could afford to give an excellent cook such as herself the comfort of a warm bed after a long and hard day. Margaret realised that the cook's threat was not an empty one. If she lost the cook within the first few days of living in Milton, no other cook will work for her.

Her father had left all household matters to her so Margaret decided to not bother him further about it. She would get the keys herself. So Margaret tied her bonnet, put on her coat and stepped out to meet Mr Webster at his office. She knew that it was not very proper for a young unmarried lady to go to a public office unchaperoned but she had to get the keys today if she wanted to keep her cook.

Mr Webster's office was on the ground floor of a newly constructed building. She was told to wait while he finished conducting business with an important customer. Margaret had to wait for almost twenty minutes. Finally, Mr Webster emerged from his office along with the customer. They shook hands and Mr Webster saw them to the door.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, Miss Hale. How can I be of assistance?" If he was surprised to see her in his office instead of her father, he hid it well.

"I came to ask about the keys to the rooms on the upper floors."

"I thought I handed over all the keys on the day of your arrival."

"Yes, the keys are all there but they don't fit some of the doors," Margaret explained.

Andrew thought about that for a moment and then remembered something: "Oh, I must have picked up the old set of keys. I am terribly sorry. You see Mr. Thornton had got the house inspected before you arrived and had asked for some of the locks to be changed. The new set of keys must still be in his office."

Margaret thought it rather odd that Mr Thornton would bother inspecting the house on their behalf. Her father had told her that he was a rather busy and important man.

"Can you please get me the new set then?" Margaret asked.

"Mr Thornton is at the mill. I would go there myself but I need to go to the bank right away. I hope it is alright if I send the keys before evening today?"

It would be too late to prepare the cook's bedroom by then. "No, I am afraid I need the keys as soon as possible. Shall I wait for you till you return from the bank? How long will you be gone?"

Andrew looked as her with surprise. Miss Hale was proving to be a rather unusual girl.

"It will take me at least an hour, maybe more than that," he said.

"Can I go to the mill instead and collect the keys from Mr Thornton?" Margaret said.

_This_ he did not expect. "Miss Hale, a mill is no place for a lady. I am not sure Mr Thornton will appreciate it."

"But I must have the keys. Would you be so kind as to give me directions to the mill?"

Once Margaret's mind was made up, it was made up and Andrew realised that right away. He drew a map and explained the route as best as he could and watched her as she walked off in the direction of the mill. Thornton was in for a surprise, Andrew thought with a grin.

Margaret walked briskly, trying to avoid the curious stares of the people on the road. Milton was unlike any city she had ever seen or imagined. The streets were crowded, busy and noisy. Margaret put her head down and trudged on. It was either this or the prospect of having no cook.

When she finally reached the gates of Marlborough Mills, she stood there wondering how on Earth was she supposed to find Mr Thornton in _this_ place. The mill was a large complex with workers bustling about everywhere. She slowly walked inside the compound, trying to decide where to go and whom to approach. The workers didn't look like they were going to stop whatever it is that they were doing to help her. Margaret decided that the most logical place where Mr Thornton might be found would be inside the mill building. Nobody stopped her or took note of her so she simply walked into the largest building in the mill complex. It looked like a warehouse of some sort as it was piled high with heavy bales of cotton. Now where, she thought looking around for a door. From the far right side, she could hear people talking. She went towards the sound and sure enough there was a door. Margaret thought about knocking but who was going to hear her in this noise. She pushed against the door with all her strength and stumbled into a blindingly white room.

It was a room full of cotton. More precisely, loose cotton piled into little hills. There were also workers, dozens of them, stuffing the cotton into sacks. Fluffs of cotton were floating in the air. Margaret walked inside, mesmerized by the unexpected beauty of the cotton wisps dancing in the air.

At the far end of the room, there was a set of stairs leading to a platform. Standing on the platform was a tall, dark man surveying the room below. Margaret stood arrested for a moment. There was something compelling about him that she couldn't pinpoint. He exuded power and authority as his eyes swept over the workers. She instinctively knew that this must be Mr Thornton. He was much younger than she had—

"Stephens!" the man suddenly roared.

At the same time, one of the workers, a pipe dangling from his mouth, began running towards the door. But Mr Thornton was fast. He swiftly climbed down the platform and caught the worker before he could run out of the door. He yanked him back by his collar into the room and proceeded to beat him.

All of this happened so suddenly that Margaret stood frozen in horror as Thornton rained vicious blows on the poor worker.

"I've warned you before! No smoking inside the mill!" Thornton said as he continued to beat Stephens.

The sound of his voice snapped Margaret back to reality.

"Stop!" Margaret cried out horrified. "Please stop!"

Thornton stopped mid-blow and turned on her with a ferocity that sent her stumbling back.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Thornton demanded.

"I am Margaret Hale," Margaret answered. "I am the daughter of Mr Richard Hale. I came—"

Suddenly, Mr Webster showed up. He took one look at Stephen and then at Thornton and correctly guessed what had happened.

"Miss Hale, please," Andrew urged as he tried to steer her away from the scene.

"What is he going to do to him?" she asked while continuing to look back at Thornton.

Thornton had hauled up Stephens to his feet and was dragging him to the door. "Get out of here and don't come back!"

"No, no! I won't do it again. I have young children, they will starve," Stephen begged.

"Let them starve than burn to death!" Thornton said he pushed Stephens away.

Margaret couldn't believe her ears. She snatched her arm free from Mr Webster and went back. "How can you say that!" she demanded.

Thornton looked at her for a moment, momentarily surprised by the outrage on her face. "Get the woman out of here!" he commanded Andrew before storming past them.

"Miss Hale, please," Andrew grabbed her arm firmly this time, "You shouldn't be here."

Margaret allowed Mr Webster to lead her out of the building. She felt too stunned by what she had seen and her own swift anger. She had never witnessed violence or such fury before. Once outside, it took her a few moments to recover.

"I am sorry. You arrived at a bad time," Mr Webster offered apologetically.

Margaret remained silent, willing her breath to calm. Not wanting to talk about the incident, she asked, "You said it will take you a couple of hours at the bank."

"Yes, but right after you left I remembered I needed Mr Thornton's signature on the bank papers. I should have realised it earlier. You needn't have come here and witnessed this."

"I still don't have the keys," she said flatly.

"If you will wait here a minute, I will get it for you."

At her nod, Andrew went back inside.

Margaret looked at the mill building, still quite unable to believe what had just occurred. _This_ was Mr Thornton! What sort of man would raise his hand at a weaker man? Or shout at children? And how is that this sort of cruelty is acceptable? Why didn't any of the other workers protest or intervene?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Webster.

"Here are the keys," he handed them over to her. "Please allow me to walk you home," he suggested graciously.

Margaret looked at him with surprise, not sure what to make of his offer. "But don't you have to go to the bank?" she stalled.

"Yes, but as a gentleman I cannot allow you to walk back through the city unescorted twice," Andrew said offering her his arm.

Margaret regarded the proffered arm. In Helstone, such familiarity would not be welcome, but Mr Webster offered it with a friendly, kind smile. Margaret hesitantly accepted his arm, realising that there is no need to judge him harshly because of his employer. She took a final look at the mill, hoping she would never have anything to do with his employer ever again. She couldn't imagine her father caring or wanting to make the acquaintance of such a man as Mr Thornton. Comforted by the thought, Margaret walked away, determined to push the unpleasant encounter from her mind.

* * *

Thornton frowned as he watched Miss Hale and Andrew walk away. He stepped away from the window and sat at his desk. He looked at his knuckles, which were somewhat sore.

None of the workers would dare light a match inside the mill, but Stephens was an idiot. A dangerous idiot. God only knew what he did when Thornton was not at the mill. He should have thrown him out long ago. When Thornton had caught Stephen with the pipe, he had been so furious and so fearful that the damned fool might destroy his mill that before he knew it, he was tearing down the stairs determined to beat some sense into him.

That is why he did not see her. Not that he would have spared Stephen because a woman happened to be standing nearby. But he wished she had not been there. She couldn't be expected to understand the reason for his anger, yet he wished he had said something to her to explain just how dangerous Stephen's actions were.

He would have liked to forget Miss Hale and her outrage except, her father had invited him to their house tomorrow evening for tea.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Margaret did when she returned home with the keys was open the cook's room and help move the bed. The rest of the rooms can wait till tomorrow, she decided. She was simply too tired after the rather eventful day.

Margaret and the maid, Katie, began early the next day. They moved and arranged the remaining furniture and things in their proper rooms. It was hard work and both of them were exhausted.

The last room left was her father's study. There were boxes full of books that needed to be arranged on the shelves. Margaret stood on a stool and placed the books in the top shelf while Katie handed her the books.

"Katie, I need some help moving the deliveries inside," the cook shouted from the front hall. The local grocer had sent the week's supplies.

"Go on," Margaret said and Katie ran out to help the cook.

Margaret enjoyed arranging the books. It felt like meeting old friends after a long time. She had read most of the books in her father's library. She would open each book, quickly flip through the pages to check if her father had forgotten any notes between the pages and then place it on the shelf. Occasionally, she would try to find an interesting passage she remembered in a book and read it. It seemed like a good way to conclude a physically exhausting day.

Margaret did not realise that while she was thus engrossed, Thornton was standing at the door of the study and watching her. Mr Hale had forgotten to tell Margaret that he had invited Thornton to tea. He himself had been delayed at the local library and so when Thornton arrived at the appointed hour, he found the door to the house wide open.

Thornton knew he should have knocked but some strange instinct made him enter the house. Miss Hale had entered his mill without his permission, he told himself. What that had to do with this, he did not know except that it seemed fitting. The door to the immediate right of the hall was open as well. Thornton guessed it to be the study and thought he might find Mr Hale there.

Thornton had been vaguely aware that Margaret was beautiful. When he had seen her at the mill, he had been too furious to notice very much about her. But now as he stood at the door looking at her, he took in her swan-like neck, her dark chestnut hair which had come undone from her bun, her tiny waist and her delicate ankle. He saw her place one stockinged foot on the shelf and step on it to reach the top-most shelf. Propriety dictated that he leave the room quietly, go back to the hall, knock at the door and have a servant announce his arrival, giving her time to step down from the stool. But he stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by the sight before him.

"Don't just stand there. Hand me the books," Margaret said.

Thornton realised that she had sensed his presence at the door but probably mistaken him for a servant. Instead of turning around or saying something, he found himself walking inside the room. He picked up a few books from one of the boxes and handed them to her.

"Not these books—" Margaret looked down expecting to see Katie and instead saw Mr Thornton.

Her eyes widened in surprise. Green eyes fringed with long dark lashes, Thornton noted and suddenly, the realisation that Margaret Hale was breathtakingly beautiful hit him with full force.

Margaret stared at him, unable to move or speak a word.

"Miss Hale," Thornton said breaking the silence. She looked so perfectly befuddled, he had to smile.

That brought her to her senses.

"Wha—"

Dear God, what was this man doing here, in her house, when she was standing on a stool with one foot planted in a most unlady—

"Maggie!" It was her father calling from the front door.

Margaret twisted her head so suddenly in the direction of the sound that she would have lost her balance and fallen down if Mr Thornton had not quickly reached out and grabbed her by the waist and helped her down just before her father entered the room.

Thornton stepped forward. "Mr Hale."

"Oh! Thornton," Mr Hale shook Thornton's hand. "I must apologise. I was detained at the library."

"I arrived only a moment ago," Thornton graciously waved off the apology.

"I see you have already met my daughter, Margaret," Mr Hale said warmly and then mistaking the look on his daughter's face, he turned to her "Oh, Maggie. I am sorry, I forgot to check with you if we are ready to receive," Mr Hale shrugged helplessly as he looked around at the boxes on the floor.

"The drawing room is ready, Papa," Margaret quickly replied. "I will see to the tea," and with that she fled the study.

Margaret ran straight to her room, her heart pounding out of her chest, her cheeks burning. She couldn't decide if she was embarrassed or just plain angry. She had never been held like that by a man before. Sure, men had placed their hands at her waist when she had danced with them but this was different. Even if it was to prevent her from falling down, it was incredibly presumptuous of him to help her in _that_ way. It was boldly intimate. She could still feel the heat of his hands where he had touched her.

Margaret looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was escaping the knot, her face was flushed and a good deal of her arms were exposed. Margaret pinned her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, rolled down the sleeves of her gown and tried to get her heart to beat at a more normal pace. It was anger, she decided. Didn't people in Milton knock at doors? Do they simply walk into other's house? The nerve of that man! Just who did he think he was? What was her father thinking inviting him to tea? The tea! Margaret had forgotten all about it.

She rushed down to the kitchen and ordered the tea service. For a brief moment, Margaret thought about sending Katie up alone with the tea. She didn't want to face him. But Margaret was not a coward and she didn't want him to think that she was a coward. So with a determined lift of her chin, she went into the study, closely followed by Katie who carried the tray.

Mr Thornton rose from his chair when Margaret entered the room. Margaret couldn't bring herself to look at him just now. She kept her eyes down and quickly went about pouring the tea.

"So what was I saying?" her father asked.

"The education of the workers," Thornton prompted.

"Ah, yes. I wish you would consider it, John. Educated workers will be moral workers, responsible workers. As their master, I believe it is your duty to see after their moral and spiritual welfare."

Margaret dropped the spoon rather loudly on the saucer.

"Forgive me," she said with a quick glance at her father. She wondered what her father would have to say if he had seen Mr Thornton beat his worker.

Her action was not lost on Thornton who stiffened immediately.

"Don't you agree, Maggie?" her father turned to her.

"Yes. Moral, spiritual _and_ physical welfare," Margaret looked Thornton straight in the eye.

Something about her stirred every argumentative, combative instinct in him. "You think I mistreat my workers?"

"I saw you beat a defenceless, much weaker man," Margaret accused.

"Maggie!" her father interjected, surprised that his usually polite daughter would speak to his guest in such a way.

"No, she is right," Thornton told Mr Hale, but without removing his gaze from Margaret. "I had to dismiss a worker for smoking—"

"You cannot possibly defend your actions," Margaret cut him off. "A gentleman would not have acted so."

Thornton's temper was fully roused now. "I dare say a gentleman never had to see two hundred corpses laid out as I had to last year. And that was an accidental flame. If I have to beat one man to save the life of my workers, I will not hesitate to do it again."

"No cause is justification for violence."

"You talk as if I beat my workers on a daily basis. Yesterday was the first time I had to raise my hand on another person. It is extremely unfortunate that you had to witness it but to form an opinion based on a single incident doesn't speak very well of you either," he said fixing her with an impervious look.

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him about his behaviour a few minutes ago. Thornton must have guessed her unspoken words and they both silently dared each other to address that.

"I think John has a point," Mr Hale finally said.

Both of them had forgotten that her father was still in the room.

"The tea, Maggie" her father reminded her.

Margaret took a deep breath and got up. She poured out a cup for her father and handed it to him.

"But that does not mean I approve of your actions," her father continued. "As their master, you must show patience with your workers."

Margaret handed Thornton his cup. Thornton reached out his hand and as she passed the cup to him, his finger brushed against hers. Startled, Margaret looked at his hand and saw that he did not remove his finger immediately but simply took the cup from her hand.

It was an accident, Margaret told herself. If he had removed his hand, they might have dropped the cup, she reasoned. Then she wondered why she was making excuses on his behalf. Margaret decided it was best to leave the two men to their conversation. She had had enough of Mr Thornton for a day.

"If you will excuse me, Papa," she got up.

"Miss Hale," Mr Thornton rose from his chair and put out his hand to shake hers. It was a familiar form of farewell in Milton.

But Margaret was still unused to the ways of the North and was stunned that he wanted to shake her hand. The little spot on her finger where he had touched her was still tingling. There was no way she was going to place her hand in his.

"Mr Thornton," she bowed instead and left the room.

He certainly had that coming, Thornton thought wryly. He tried to keep his attention on what Mr Hale was saying but the room had grown dull the moment Margaret had left. What had he been thinking when he grabbed her from the stool. He hadn't been thinking at all, that's what. And then he had gone ahead and argued with her in front of her father. He wondered what else he could do to antagonise her. If her sudden exit from the room was any indication, this was probably the last that he was going to see of her. Thornton realised uneasily that he did not like the idea of not being able to see Margaret again.

Before he could think it over, he asked, "Mr Hale, I was thinking if you would be kind enough to read Homer with me. I confess I never got around to finishing the Iliad and it would be nice to have someone help me with it."

"What a fortunate co-incidence! I have been planning to teach it at school, this would be an excellent preparation. I will be delighted."

As Thornton left the house, he couldn't help smiling. Mr Hale had invited him to read with him every evening. He had enjoyed reading the classics in school but that was such a long time ago. He wondered what his mother and sister will have to say about his renewed interest in Homer. His mother will not be very pleased. But, for now, all he needed to worry about was not offending Margaret when he saw her next. That and finding his old copy of the Iliad.


	3. Chapter 3

Three days later, Thornton was in a foul mood. For two days, he had gone to Mr Hale's house at the usual hour, had waited patiently for Margaret to appear with the tea, but she had not come down. The tea was instead served by the maid. Every time there was a movement in the hall, he held his breath but it was never her.

"I trust Miss Hale is well," Thornton finally asked.

"Yes, I believe she has gone for a walk. She seems to prefer this hour."

"I see."

Her intentions could not be much plainer. She did not even want to be in the same house as him. If she didn't want to see him, he should remove himself from her way. She need not pretend to go on walks to avoid him. Thornton wondered how to best put an end to his visits, without disappointing Mr Hale, who had been talking about reading Plato next. Mr Hale had been very generous with his time and he seemed very happy to have him as a friend.

"I am afraid I may not be able to come tomorrow," Thornton said as he shook Mr Hale's hand. "There is talk of strike and I will be needed at the mill."

"Oh! I shall miss your company. But I hope you will come on Thursday," Mr Hale said.

"I hope to be able to," Thornton replied but without much confidence.

Thornton walked back home disappointed and angry with himself. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Margaret. That fact in and of itself was troubling. He had gone to her house every day, hoping to see her, hoping to engage her in a conversation and every day, he had returned empty. Their last conversation had left so much unresolved, he needed some sort of closure. But perhaps it was too much to hope for.

He knew that where the Hales came from being in trade was frowned upon and Margaret would not have cared to make his acquaintance had circumstances not thrown them together. But frankly, he couldn't care less about it. The mill was his life's work. The mill he had inherited from his father was but a mill in name. His father had suffered heavy losses and had begun investing in dubious schemes hoping to raise enough money to pay the creditors and revive the mill. He had finally given up all hope and put a gun to his head. Thornton had to leave the university and return to Milton. Together with his mother, he had worked hard and penny by penny paid off his father's debts. Running a business had come naturally to him and slowly but steadily, he had rebuilt the business and the mill that his father had all but destroyed. If only his father had told his mother about the true state of their finance, she might have been able to advise him. Thornton made sure that he did not make the same mistake as his father. He freely discussed matters of business with his mother. It surprised and pleased him enormously that he and his mother were always in agreement. The only time she had showed any displeasure was when he had told her about reading the classics with Mr Hale.

"And what do you hope to learn from the Iliad about running a mill?" she had asked.

He had smiled and dropped a kiss on her head.

"This Mr Hale of yours, he has a daughter, doesn't he?" she had continued.

"Yes."

"Is she the same girl who was at the mill that day?"

"Yes."

"What is she like?"

"Why don't you pay them a visit and we can see if we are in agreement regarding her character?"

"I don't think I will like her."

Thornton had refused to take the bait. But his mother had been right. Margaret had proved to be haughty and set in her opinion. He hoped the upcoming manufacturer's meeting and the purchase of the new looms will help drive away all thoughts of her from his mind.

The next day, Thornton together with Andrew went to a factory situated just outside Milton to inspect and confirm the order of two looms on a trial basis. It was Thornton's habit to lunch at home with his mother. He knew she would be interested to hear about the improvement in the design of the looms. The weather that day was exceptionally fine, and Thornton decided to walk back home. Mr Hale's house was on the way and Thornton thought that it might be prudent if he avoided their street altogether. Just as he was about to take the other street, he saw Margaret emerge from her house.

Something seemed wrong. She didn't look her usual self and was walking rather fast. Before he knew what he was about, Thornton found himself following her. She maintained her quick pace, expertly and elegantly threading her way through the crowd, twisting her shoulder this way and that to avoid bumping it against others. She was wearing a white muslin gown and had a light blue shawl draped across her shoulders. She looked completely out of place—a vision in white cutting through a crowd of black and grey. Thornton knew that he had no business following her, but he couldn't deny his curiosity. What was she up to? He looked around to see what street they were on. They were quite far from her house or the market. She seems to be heading in the direction of the hill.

The hill was located on the outskirts of the city but the people of Milton rarely went there. Thornton wondered what attraction the hill could hold for her. He had been to the hill a couple of times and as much as he was proud of Milton, he knew that while the hill offered an excellent panoramic view of the city and the nearby districts, the city itself looked ugly and squat from up there.

Margaret left the city behind and approached the foot of the hill. It was not a steep climb, Margaret realised. She had seen the hill from the window of her room this morning. She hadn't even been aware that there was a hill. The black smoke that covered Milton had been cleared away that morning by a lovely but strong wind. The sun shone brightly and the morning light had spilled all over Margaret's room.

By afternoon, Milton had spewed enough smoke to eclipse the sun. It would once again be dark and dreary. Margaret couldn't bear that thought. To not be able to feel the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. It was enough to make Margaret heartsick with a desperate longing. She had noticed that the hill was the only area where there was still some sun.

Margaret felt giddy with happiness as she got closer to the hill. The hill was rather lovely; well, lovely compared to the rest of Milton. The grass was overgrown and there were some old trees. Margaret continued climbing. It was wonderfully quiet and remote. Margaret took off her bonnet and shrugged off her shawl. The peak of the hill was not really a peak but a slightly lopsided plateau. The air was cleaner and the hill commanded an excellent view. Margaret looked at Milton below. It looked like an unnatural, black blot on an otherwise beautiful landscape. Margaret breathed deeply, dropped her bonnet and shawl on the grass and sat down.

Thornton stood at a distance. He would have liked to leave. He had no desire to surprise her again but he had seen a couple of ruffians follow Margaret from the city. They were now standing behind some trees. They had been so keen on their target that they had not realised that they were themselves being followed by Thornton. Margaret, of course, had been completely unaware of anything.

Thornton walked closer, revealing himself to the thugs. He hoped they would abandon whatever plans they had upon realising that Margaret was not alone.

"Miss Hale," he called out.

She turned her head around in surprise. Good God! Was there no escaping this man? She was sure that he had not been at the hill before her. He must have followed her. She stood up and turned around.

"This is not a safe place for a lady," he said, walking towards her.

"You are the only other person here, Mr Thornton," she ground out.

Thornton flinched.

"I am not the only other person here," Thornton said loudly, looked in the direction where the men were hiding. The men immediately moved away and made their way back down the hill.

Margaret's face paled visibly.

"They had followed you from the city," Thornton said once the men were out of sight.

Margaret was shocked at that. In Helstone, she had always taken long walks without worrying about being accosted by strangers. She began to realise what must have happened and why Mr Thornton had followed her. She flushed as she remembered her words to him. She must apologise.

"You ought to be more careful. You are in Milton, not Helstone. Surely you realise that," Thornton said with a scowl.

Margaret knew she had erred in thinking that he had sought her out alone but she did not deserve that tone of voice.

"I realise only too well," she replied icily, forgetting all about apologising and that he had just protected her.

"Yet, you expose yourself to danger."

"I was not aware that I was. In Helstone, this would never have happened."

"But this is not Helstone," Thornton said. "As you realise only too well," he added.

Margaret had never been at the receiving end of a put-down by anyone, let alone a man. Men had always hanged on to her every word and accepted whatever she said without question, not that she ever said anything foolish.

But Mr Thornton was like no one she had ever met. She couldn't get a hold of his character. He didn't have the relaxed, debonair manner of the men she had met in London. Those men had smiled and tried to flirt with her. Margaret couldn't imagine Mr Thornton doing any of those things. He rarely smiled. He spoke and acted with purpose and authority. She was absolutely sure that he was not the sort of man to flirt. And yet, he had smiled at her. He had drawn her into an intense conversation. And while his actions cannot be construed as flirting by any stretch of the imagination, it had caused her to blush furiously every time she thought about it.

When her father had told her that Mr Thornton will be visiting every day, she had been too surprised to say anything. She had no reason to believe that their third meeting would be an improvement over the first two. Her every instinct and sensibility was contrary to his and she was certain that there would never be a point on which they both could agree. She had watched the clock with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Fifteen minutes before he was to arrive, she had decided that a walk was an excellent idea. This is not cowardice, she had told herself, this is peace of mind.

As she stood stunned by his jibe, she added another fault to his character. He provoked her like no other and right now, he was succeeding exceedingly well. Well, two can play this game. Without a word, Margaret turned around on her heel, walked back to the spot where she had tossed her bonnet and shawl and sat down with her back firmly to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Thornton groaned.

How had the afternoon turned into this, he wondered. The day had promised to be a routine one until he had seen her and despite his resolve, he followed her. Later, of course, he was glad that he had. He didn't want to think what would have happened if those thugs had found Margaret alone. He had protected her and she had insulted him and before he realised quite how, they had argued and it had ended with her stalking off.

Thornton knew that despite everything that had happened, he could not leave her alone here. He considered if he should wait for her mood to pass. He should not have lost his temper with her. After all, he couldn't blame her for being wary of him. He looked at her. She hadn't moved an inch. He might end up waiting all afternoon. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began walking towards her.

When she had stormed off, all she wanted to do was get even with him. But now as Margaret sat with her back to him, she realised that she hadn't really thought things through. She should have gathered her things and walked back home. She was beginning to realise that Mr Thornton was not going to leave her alone unprotected, which meant that he was probably still standing where she had left him, which meant that they were still a long way from being done with each other. Instead of making a dignified exit, she was trapped in a foolish game of waiting to see who would make the first move. Frederick, her brother, would have howled with laughter at her current predicament. Maggie in a snit, he would have said. How she missed Fred, especially now! He would have cushioned her against the hard, new world of Milton. He would have made it bearable with his jokes and laughter. She could have come to the hill with him and none of this would have happened. Where are you, Fred, Margaret sighed. The last letter she had received from Fred was almost three months ago. He had assured her that he was doing very well and that Spain was a delightful country and that he was enjoying the sun a bit too much—"I finally look like the swarthy, dangerous pirate that I had spent my entire childhood imagining myself to be." Margaret had smiled when she read that. She remembered how they had run wild as children, escaping the watchful eyes of Dixon, their late mother's maid, and played outside till they were sweaty and dizzy from the sun.

"Miss Hale, those thugs might return," Thornton called out, in what he hoped was a reconciliatory tone.

She did not stir. He stopped behind her, a little to the side. He couldn't see her complete profile but she looked like she was deep in thought.

"Allow me to walk you home," he said a bit louder this time.

Margaret was vaguely aware that Mr Thornton was standing behind her and that he was saying something to her, but she was far away in Helstone where she was a little girl playing pirates with her brother, their laughter and squeals ringing in the air.

"Miss Hale?"

The childhood memory had taken such a strong hold over her that she forgot she was upset with Mr Thornton and the only thing she remembered was why she was up here. "Can we sit a while? There is a bit of sun still," Margaret said automatically.

Thornton had prepared himself for biting retort, feminine petulance, and a few seconds ago, he had added stony silence to the list of possible reactions, but an invitation to sit down with her? He didn't know what had brought about the sudden change or the offer to sit with her. He could think of only one reason.

"If this is an apology, it is unnecessary, Miss Hale," Thornton said, trying to study her face for any clue to what was going on in her mind. He had been planning an apology himself, but it seems she had beaten him to it.

Margaret, of course, hadn't meant the invitation as an apology. In fact, she didn't really know what she was saying and to whom until the words were out of her mouth. Saying those words had brought her back to the present along with the mortifying realisation that it was terribly forward and brazen of her to ask Mr Thornton to sit with her in a secluded spot. She offered a silent thanks when he interpreted her words as an apology. But Mr Thornton's response also reminded her that she did have a reason to apologise to him. She would have already if her pride and foolish temper had not got the better of her. He could not be faulted for thinking that the invitation was her way of apologising. He probably thought she was too proud to make an actual apology.

Margaret finally turned her head around and looked up at him. "That was not an apology, Mr Thornton. But I have behaved very badly just now and I hope you will forgive me," Margaret said sincerely.

"It's alright," Thornton said, "I should not have spoken to you the way I did. I hope you will forgive me as well."

"We are even then," Margaret said with a smile.

"I believe so," Thornton said, glad to have put an end to this silly little game.

Thornton wondered if Margaret still wanted to sit there. It would be terribly inappropriate; reputations have been lost over much less. He knew that she was in a strange mood when she made the bold request. She couldn't have meant it.

"Shall we return?" Thornton asked.

"Yes," Margaret said quickly, confirming Thornton's belief.

Margaret stood up and bent down to pick up her things. She tied her bonnet, her fingers nimbly knotting the ribbon below her chin and draped the shawl across her shoulder. Thornton stood watching, unable to tear his eyes away from her. When Margaret finally looked up, she was startled to find him looking at her so intently. She blushed and all the awkwardness that existed between them suddenly came back.

Thornton offered her his arm and Margaret realised with increasing discomfort that he had not dropped his gaze and that her palms were sweaty. She went to his side and gently rested her hand on the crook of his elbow.

They made their way down the hill in silence. Thornton slowed down to make sure that she didn't lose her footing on the climb down but when they entered the city, he noted that Margaret had started walking at her usual slightly brisk pace. Thornton had wondered how it would feel to have her walk with him and now he knew. He couldn't even feel the weight of her arm as she was barely resting her hand on his but his every sense was tuned to her presence. To his frustration, he couldn't quite place her scent. Most of the women he met practically bathed in their perfume. He could smell the violets and the roses long before they even entered the room, but Margaret's was proving to be somewhat elusive due, in no small part, to the overwhelming smells and smoke of Milton.

Thornton was not unaware that people were looking at them. It is not every day that John Thornton, the master of Marlborough Mills, is seen walking with a young lady and one as pretty as Margaret. Thornton knew that he was considered something of a catch in the marriage market. His sister was forever trying to get him interested in some girl or the other. Thornton had taken care that he paid no more attention to any of those girls than what was polite. They were charming and nice enough but they were all the same—they all said the same things, acted the same way—it was almost as if they were manufactured at the same factory, Thornton had thought wryly. Besides, he was not really looking for a wife and because he was not looking for a wife, he had not put a lot of thought into the kind of girl he would like to marry, except that she be different. But different how was something that Thornton had not given much thought to.

But now walking with Margaret, he thought that she was different from all those girls that his sister had forced into his acquaintance. And if he be honest, he had to admit that she was different in ways that he was not prepared for. She had come unescorted into his mill. No lady ever went to a mill or a factory—not even his mother had entered his mill. But Margaret had and not only that, she had proceeded to question his actions in front of his workers.

Margaret was every bit a lady and yet he had found her working along with her maid. Mr Hale was too old and frail to help move the furniture; the two girls alone must have been responsible for setting up the house. Thornton couldn't get his sister to bring him the newspaper from the drawing room without a stern look. Later that day, Margaret had again challenged him. Thornton couldn't recall ever hearing a contradictory word or opinion from any of the young ladies he knew. And what about today? Today had to be the most unusual, alarming, maddening, frustrating and exciting day of his life. He stole a quick look at Margaret. She looked rather demure. Nobody who saw her now would believe her capable of the little scene that she had created when she had stomped off, her eyes flashing with anger.

The object of his thoughts had also become aware that they were attracting a bit of attention. She had finally started to relax after Mr Thornton had been forced to look ahead instead of at her. Margaret had met enough young men to not be unused to their admiring gaze. But as with everything else, Mr Thornton's gaze was far too direct and intense and he obviously did not know when to look away or stop staring. What upset her even more was her own reaction. Her heart had beaten wildly, she could barely get her feet to walk. She, who had spent her childhood climbing trees and racing her brother across fields couldn't even manage to climb down from the hill! She was too aware of his nearness, his long strides, the stiff fabric of his coat, the muscles of his arm beneath the fabric and the strength and heat radiating from them.

She was glad when they entered the city. She hoped that the sights and sounds of the city will distract her from him, but the public attention had made her nervous all over again. After almost two weeks in Milton, she knew that Mr Thornton was a well-known figure and she supposed that him being seen with an unknown lady would be cause of some speculation. If they were going to be a public curiosity, they could at least act normal instead of walking as if in a parade. They hadn't spoken a word since they started walking and Margaret wondered if she should make some small talk.

Luckily for her, Thornton had the exact same thought.

"Helstone must be lovely," Thornton said, saving her the trouble.

"Yes, it is," Margaret warmed up immediately. "It is especially lovely this time of the year. The fields would be full of wild flowers," she smiled at the memory. "The hill has such a good view, I wonder why people don't visit it, especially today when the sun is out," Margaret said.

"People in Milton do not have time for leisure. This is a manufacturing city. Here, time is money," Thornton said.

"But to enjoy a few hours of leisure can't be a waste of time," Margaret countered. "I have never seen so much hopelessness and despair. In Helstone too there were poor people, but they never looked so weighed down. Won't it do them good to find some comfort in nature?"

It seemed every conversation between them was in danger of becoming a disagreement. On another day and with another person, Thornton would have told them that it is not comfort that the poor need but discipline and a willingness to work hard and lift themselves out of poverty. He did not have any sympathy for romantic notions about hardship. But Thornton did not want to contradict her, not today, not now when he was still trying to figure out what perfume she wore.

"Is that why you had gone to the hill—to seek comfort in nature?" Thornton asked, turning the conversation back to her.

"Yes, I suppose," Margaret admitted, a bit surprised at the question. "The weather was really lovely this morning and I couldn't bear to not be outside. But now..." Margaret looked up and trailed off.

Thornton looked up as well and saw Milton through her eyes. The usual smoky darkness had descended upon Milton. The sky which should have been blue was grey and instead of white clouds, puffs of black smoke were scattered across the sky. The air was filled with a fine grey dust which settled on everything. Thornton looked at Margaret's gown and saw that it was soiled. The delicate muslin had caught the dust and the gown which had looked pristine not one hour ago, now looked jaded. She really didn't belong in Milton, Thornton realised.

"Maybe it will be a clear day tomorrow," Margaret said hopefully. She had noticed that Mr Thornton had become very quiet.

"Maybe," Thornton repeated.

They had reached her house. Margaret removed her hand from his and stood facing him.

"Thank you, Mr Thornton," Margaret said primly.

"You are welcome."

Margaret hesitated at the steps. "We will see you in the evening then," she asked. It could not have escaped his notice that she had been avoiding him these last couple of days and after today, it would be unforgivably rude if she were to be absent when he came visiting. She wanted to tell him that she would be home.

Thornton had told her father that he will not be coming tonight, but judging from her question, it was clear that Mr Hale had once again forgotten to tell his daughter about the cancelled visit.

"If it will not inconvenience you," Thornton said.

"Oh, no. You are most welcome at our house. Papa enjoys your company very much," Margaret said quickly.

He wondered if the same can be said about her. He knew he had to tread carefully with Margaret.

"Yes, I will come by," Thornton said, wondering what Mr Hale would make of it.

"I will see you in the evening then," Margaret said, finally giving him a smile so stunning that Thornton was rendered speechless for a moment.

"Miss Hale," Thornton finally found his tongue. He nodded and turned to walk back home.

Lavender, he smiled to himself after a while.


	5. Chapter 5

**_A sort of in-between chapter, a breather, a set-up for what I hope will be an explosive chapter 6._**

**_Enjoy! :) _**

* * *

When Margaret entered the kitchen, she found Katie sobbing in the corner and the cook consoling her.

"Katie, what happened," Margaret immediately went to her side.

"It's Bessie. She coughed blood this morning. Father told her to stay home. He won't say it but I know she is dying," Katie sobbed into Margaret's shoulder.

Margaret knew that Katie's elder sister worked at the mills and was not keeping well. She had often visited the sick along with her father in Helstone and she knew what it meant when someone coughed up blood.

"Would you like to go see how Bessie is doing?" Margaret asked.

Katie silently nodded her head.

"I will come with you," Margaret said to Katie's surprise.

"Bessie will be so happy to see you, Miss," Katie said wiping her tears.

Margaret asked the cook to prepare a quick lunch that they could take for Bessie and soon they were off.

"Bessie, look who is here to meet you," Katie shouted as she opened the door to her house. Their house was a small, ramshackle little structure. On the ground floor was a large hall which served as the dining room, kitchen and nursery. There were three little children who were playing with some old dolls. In the corner was a bed, partly hidden by a curtain. Katie moved the curtains and Margaret saw a young woman about the same age as her lying on the bed. Bessie was painfully thin, but her eyes had humour and intelligence.

"Miss Hale," she said rising up from the bed.

Katie helped her sister sit up and placed a few cushions to support her. Margaret sat on the chair next to the bed.

"How are you, Bessie," Margaret asked.

"As well as can be hoped," Bessie said with a shrug. She looked at Katie and the two sisters shared a smile.

Margaret looked from Bessie to Katie and said "I hope you have said only good things about me to your sister, Katie," she said in a mock-stern tone.

"Don't worry about that. She can't stop talking about how nice and pretty you are even though I told her that I have seen her Miss Hale," Bessie said.

Katie grinned; she was enjoying showing off her Miss.

"Miss Margaret brought you lunch, Bessie. Shall I put on the kettle? You will have tea, won't you, Miss?" Katie asked Margaret.

Margaret nodded. After Katie left them, Margaret turned to Bessie.

"You said you'd seen me," Margaret asked.

"Yes, that day at the mill when you tried to save Stephens. I was there," Bessie said.

"Oh! You work at Mr Thornton's mill."

"Yes, Mr Thornton didn't see that coming now, did he?" Bessie chuckled.

"What happened to Stephens?" Margaret asked.

"What do you reckon? Those are his children," Bessie said nodding in the direction of the children playing on the floor. The eldest was barely seven years old.

"Father took them in. Stephen is looking for a job but no one will take a man who was thrown out for smoking inside a mill," Bessie continued.

"Your father is a very kind man," Margaret said.

"We got to take care of each other. The Masters won't; to them, we're just hands," Bessie said.

Margaret who had decided to try think better of Mr Thornton found her resolve failing. The horrible memory of him beating Stephens and dismissing him from the job came flooding back to her. Mr Thornton had ignored Stephen pleas and now his little children were living on the kindness of others, one step away from starvation. Bessie's father was a kind man but it was clear that he was barely able to care for his own daughters. The added burden of Stephen's three children must be very hard on him.

"Can I do anything to help?" Margaret asked.

"You are kind, Miss Margaret and I know you mean well but how long can you keep sending food," Bessie asked, turning to look at the children. Katie was offering them bread from the basket; the children took it greedily and finished it in a few quick bites.

"Father says the only person who can help us is us," Bessie said as the children turned their attention back to the dolls.

Margaret had often heard her own father say the same thing. "God help those who help themselves," her father had become fond of quoting. Mr Hale had decided that he would rather do what needs to be done instead of waiting for divine providence. He had kept his increasing doubts to himself and quietly carried about his work as a pastor but when the Bishop had asked him to reaffirm his faith, her father had refused. That day Margaret had seen a different side to her quiet, affable father. She found herself admiring and respecting his honesty and integrity, even though it meant that they would have to leave her beloved Helstone.

"I should like to meet your father," Margaret said with a smile.

"I think you should meet other young ladies. Katie says that none of the town folks have come visiting yet," Bessie said, her voice gently teasing.

"Mr Thornton visits every day," Katie said as she handed Margaret her cup and placed some bread in front of Bessie.

"He does?" Bessie looked at Margaret in surprise.

"He comes to read with Papa," Margaret said quickly.

"Read what?" Bessie asked.

"Homer," when this was met with a blank look from Bessie, Margaret added, "Books, poems…"

"Poems? Mr Thornton?" Bessie asked astonished.

"It's not that kind of poem. It's about war and battle, Gods, warriors, beasts, dragons … it's Greek!" Margaret said, as if that ought to explain everything.

"Hum mm," Bessie bit into her bread thoughtfully. "It's well he didn't send his mother to welcome you. There's a dragon, for you."

"Bessie!" Katie was surprised at her sister's rather free speech.

"What? You've seen her," Bessie poked her sister.

Margaret thought it best to keep quiet. She was not surprised to hear Mr Thornton's mother described thus. Mr Thornton's mother would have to be a formidable lady and it was well that she didn't deem the Hales worth a visit. One Thornton was more than enough for a person to deal with.

At that very moment, the lady in question, Hannah Thornton, was questioning her son.

"John! What took you so long?"

"I hope you didn't wait for me, mother," Thornton said, a bit guilty.

"I did. And you didn't answer my question."

"First, let's eat something. You are never in a good mood when you are hungry. Besides, I am starving," Thornton pulled the bell.

"Those looms must have exceeded your expectations. You seem to be in an excellent mood for someone who is starving."

"Come now, mother," Thornton began gently steered her towards the dining room.

"Mother, you won't believe what Miss Latimer told me. She said she saw John with…" Fanny Thornton burst into the room and stopped when she saw her brother and her mother. "Oh!" she finished weakly.

"Go on, don't stop gossiping on my account," Thornton said with a superior look.

"Well…?" Hannah asked when Fanny refused to say anything further.

"She said she saw John with Miss Hale," Fanny said, looking at the carpet.

Hannah turned to look at Thornton.

"I will tell you about it mother; can we eat first?" Thornton said, realising that he will have to tell her about this afternoon. He had clearly underestimated how fast news travels. He would rather his family hear the truth, that is, an abridged version of the truth than an embellished version from whoever this Miss Latimer is.

As Thornton and Hannah sat down, Fanny joined them.

"I was able to provide some assistance to Miss Hale," Thornton said after taking a few bites first.

This was met with silence from his mother and sister.

"She had lost her way and I saw her home," Thornton explained.

"Goodness, where was she planning to go?" Fanny asked.

"She was exploring the city," Thornton said.

"On her own? How odd!" Fanny said looking at her mother, waiting for her to express her disapproval.

Hannah was watching her son. He seemed greatly interested in polishing off the chicken on his plate. She will have to meet this Miss Hale. She seems to be intruding into their lives—John's life, to be precise—too much for her liking. Even though she had not met the girl, Hannah's instinct as a mother told her that she will only bring trouble. She hoped that the girl was not some ambitious chit trying to snare a wealthy husband. John would see through such a person, but a great many intelligent men have been taken for fools by scheming women.

But right now, she needed to deal with Fanny. "I hope you will not help spread gossip about your own brother," Hannah said sternly.

"I would never!" Fanny cried outraged.

"Clearly, Miss Hale doesn't have any friends here. I think we should pay them a visit," Hannah declared.

Thornton wondered whether he should agree with his mother or keep quiet. After Fanny's ill-timed announcement, he had no hope of escaping his mother's close scrutiny. Thornton was not in the habit of keeping secrets from his mother, but this was too close, too raw, too new and he was not ready to have anyone, even his mother, pry his heart for answers.

"I think I should like to meet Miss Hale," Fanny finally said. "They are from the South, aren't they? We don't know anyone from there," she said, addressing no one in particular.

"Andrew is from the South," Thornton pointed out, glad for the distraction.

"He doesn't count. He is just like us," Fanny said. "What is she like?" Fanny asked Thornton.

This must have been the second time he had been asked that question. There was no avoiding it. He knew his mother would be interested in hearing his description of Margaret.

"She is rather independent," he said.

"We already know that," Fanny said.

"Then you know as much about her as I do," Thornton said, starting to get annoyed with the questioning.

"I meant, what does she look like? Is she pretty?" Fanny could only manage to get a vague description of Miss Hale from Ann Latimer.

"Exceedingly," Thornton said, partly to annoy Fanny and partly because there didn't seem to be any point denying it.

"Oh!"

"Now, if you don't have any more questions," Thornton said, looking at his sister. He got up from the table and went to his room to put on a new coat and take his copy of the Iliad. He planned to go to Mr Hale's house directly from the mill.

"I will be on time for dinner," he told his mother and went out.

While Fanny chattered on, Hannah sat thinking to herself about her son. John had looked distracted these last few days. He would sit with the newspaper but she could tell that he was not reading a word. When he came home after reading with Mr Hale, he had looked almost sullen. She had attributed it to the trouble that the workers were creating. Clearly, Homer didn't help take his mind off his mill. She had waited for him to tell her about whatever was bothering him, but he hadn't. Last night, he had been in a bad temper and had retired early. But this afternoon, the change in John's mood was all too evident and now she knew why. She wondered if he would have told her about his meeting with Miss Hale if Fanny had not broken the news first. John had never shown any inclination towards any of the young ladies they knew and Hannah was secretly pleased. None of them were remarkable in any way. None of them deserved John. She knew she had no right to dictate what girl he married but she hoped that it would be someone who saw him for the brave and strong man that he was. Only Hannah knew much her boy had struggled and suffered. While his friends had completed their education and went on their grand tours, John had worked as an overseer at a cotton mill during the day and as an accountant's clerk at night. He had barely slept and had survived on just one meal a day for years. She remembered how he had looked when he had told her that he had paid off the last of his father's debts.

Hannah never once doubted John's success. He was exceptionally bright and had learned the business well when he worked as an overseer. When he reopened the mill that had been closed for nearly five years, others had scoffed and doubted him. But he had proved them wrong. Marlborough Mills was now the largest cotton mill in Milton and John only had his intelligence and determination to thank for it. How could any girl be expected to understand all this? Especially one who had moved to Milton barely a week ago. And especially one who had tried to tell John how to run his business. And now it seems that John has taken a fancy to this girl. She would definitely have to meet Miss Hale and see what she was about.


	6. Chapter 6

Margaret had spent a charming afternoon with Bessie, Katie and the three children. Despite her fatal illness, Bessie had a quiet humour and grace. Margaret had never seen anyone look as serene as Bessie looked as she sat upon her bed and joked while she and Katie played and made friends with Stephen's young children.

Margaret had a knack with children and it never took her more than ten minutes to be friends with them. Once Margaret taught the three children how to make shadow animals with their hands, the three decided that "Margie" can be trusted with their little secret. The secret was an adorable little puppy that the children had found in an alley and had kept hidden under Bessie's bed.

Bessie and Katie feigned surprise and astonishment as the puppy was produced from under the bed. "What's his name?" Bessie asked as the puppy made desperate attempt to lick her face.

"Boots!"

"Charlie!"

"No, she is Bella!"

After much debate and discussion, and after determining the gender, they settled on Mr Woof – which they all agreed was a perfectly respectable and appropriate name.

When Nicholas Higgins came home during his lunch break to check on Bessie, he was surprised to find so much laughter and a bonny new face.

"Were they hiding her under the bed as well," he asked his daughters, pointing towards Margaret.

But the mood in the house had gradually changed with Nicholas' entry. Margaret had noticed the worry etched on his face as he looked at the little brood. He had shrugged off Margaret's admiration for his act of kindness and had politely but firmly refused her offer to help with Stephen's children.

"Miss Hale, they'll not starve. You might find it hard to believe, but I can take care of them," Higgins had told her.

As Margaret returned home with Katie, she felt as much bound to Bessie and the little children as she felt to Fred and just as helpless to do anything to save or secure them. She knew that Bessie will go back to work tomorrow and will continue to work for as long as her frail health will allow. Higgins will do everything he can for the children till Stephens finds a new job. Did Mr Thornton realise or care how many lives depended on his decisions? As the hour of Mr Thornton arrival approached, Margaret slowly felt her anger towards him for his callous disregard for his workers and their families returning. Perhaps he did not know, she reasoned to herself. Perhaps, she could talk to him about it.

As Thornton walked towards Mr Hale's house, he couldn't shake off the worry that Andrew's news had brought him. All the cotton mills workers in Milton were planning a strike by the end of this month and their leader was Nicholas Higgins—a firebrand and uncompromising man by all accounts. A strike was basically a battle of nerves, a blinking contest that Thornton had little patience for. Workers had gone on strike before but they always gave in within a few days. But Higgins and his gang had been organising meetings these last few months and rallying the workers and trying to convince them to continue with the strike till their demands were met. What they did not want to consider was that the strike could threaten the cotton business in Milton, the very business on which their livelihood depended. They were counting on the Masters to cave in and give in to their demands before the business began to truly suffer. Thornton could hold out for a week, ten days at most, but not beyond that. With production halted, orders would not be met and buyers will turn to other manufacturers.

As Thornton knocked at the door, he was still deep in thought. The door was opened by the maid who showed him to the study. Margaret was standing near the fire and at the sound of his footsteps, she turned around. Thornton caught his breath. He would never get used to her beauty. Her skin was flushed from the heat; her hair had caught the light and formed a sort of soft halo around her face. He drank her in and forgot all about the impending strike and his worries.

"Miss Hale."

"Mr Thornton, please sit down. Papa is not yet home. He must be delayed at the library," she said.

Thornton hoped Mr Hale was not planning to return home late as he was not expecting Thornton this evening. If Mr Hale didn't come soon, he would have to tell Margaret about the original cancellation.

"Shall I ring for the tea?" Margaret asked.

"Not yet. Thank you," Thornton said.

They sat in silence looking at the fire burning in the grate. After a minute, which felt like an hour to both of them, they decided it best to break the awkward silence.

"How far have you progressed with the Iliad?" Margaret asked.

"I hope you have settled in," Thornton enquired at the same time.

"Yes, we have settled in. There isn't much to do but I have made some new friends today and I will be visiting them as much as I can," Margaret said.

"New friends," Thornton queried.

"Bessie, she is my maid's sister. She works at your mill," Margaret said.

Thornton looked at her in surprise. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Trust Margaret Hale to befriend the hands. He could only hope that they haven't filled her mind with nonsense about the tyranny of the Masters.

"Interesting friends," he commented.

"You do not approve," Margaret said upset with his slightly patronising tone.

"Miss Hale, I am no one to approve or disapprove your choice of friends," Thornton pointed out with a smile.

Margaret immediately flustered. "Well, she is my friend," she said a bit defensively.

Thornton, of course, didn't know or particularly remember Bessie. He had more than hundred workers at his mill and unless they created trouble, he had no reason to know any of them by name. Margaret, on the other hand, was surprised that Mr Thornton did not seem to know the names of his workers. Helstone was a reasonable large parish and there were more than 40 families but her father had known each one of those families—rich and poor—and every single member of those families—child and adult.

"Bessie is not well. It's a lung infection. I heard it is common among the workers," Margaret said.

"It is. It's the cotton that they breathe in."

Margaret looked at Mr Thornton trying to determine how he felt about it. But he looked impassive.

"I guess it means nothing to you," Margaret said feeling her old anger erupting.

Thornton was taken aback. He knew that something was bothering her but he did not expect a direct attack. Ever since they met, all she had done was attack and accuse him.

"And how did you arrive at that conclusion?" he asked his own temper rising.

"You don't even know the names of the people who work for you. You don't care if they suffer or live or die."

"I may not know their names but it matters to me if they suffer or die. I would be a poor Master if I don't think about them."

"You only think about them in terms of the work they do for you."

"How else am I supposed to think about them?" Thornton said rising from his chair in his frustration.

"With human sympathy! With compassion!" Margaret rose as well.

"You think I am without compassion?" Thornton stepped towards her.

"I don't know you well enough, Mr Thornton, but so far you have not shown any evidence of it."

"That's because I cannot afford it."

"You? Not afford it?"

"I run a mill, not a charity."

"I speak of compassion, not money," Margaret cried out.

"And compassion costs money!"

Margaret thought about the money it had cost to take food to the children at the orphanage or even today. It was money that they could ill-afford but she had done whatever little she could.

"Compassion can be shown in small ways too," Margaret bit out.

Thornton didn't have a reply to this.

"What would you have me do?" he finally asked her.

"Take back Stephens."

"I can't," he shook his head.

Margaret turned away from him, her disappointment in him clear.

Thornton curled his fists in frustration. "It would set a bad example. He cannot be trusted," he tried to explain to her but she refused to look at him and instead kept looking at the fire that was burning out in the grate.

Thornton swore to himself and walked towards the window and looked out. They felt silent again.

"He has two boys and a girl. Tom, Ellie and Arthur," her voice was quiet. "They live with Bessie and Katie now. Their father, Nicholas Higgins, took the children in."

"Nicholas Higgins?" Thornton turned around.

"Mr Higgins works at one of the mills. He doesn't have much himself," Margaret turned and faced him. "But he showed compassion."

"I know who Nicholas Higgins is. He is a union leader. He is asking all the workers to strike. Tell me Miss Hale, when they go on strike and when they stop getting wages, how will he feed those children?"

This time Margaret didn't have a reply. She didn't know much about the strike. Higgins had assured her that he will take care of the children. She knew he was a proud man and she didn't want to offend him by insisting on offering help and so she had kept her doubts to herself. She hoped that Higgins' pride would not stop him from asking her for help, should the need arise.

"Nicholas Higgins has no more compassion than the Masters that he hates so much."

Margaret sat down. The wind had gone out of her argument, and with it her anger. She now only felt the unfairness of the world. "Why can't people simply care for each other? Why should something so simple be so hard to do," Margaret asked quietly.

Thornton couldn't believe her idealism and naivety. They always seemed to go together. Margaret had much to learn about the practical world. How does one even begin to answer what was such a simple yet profound question?

"Human nature," Mr Hale replied from the door of the study.

Thornton and Margaret turned their heads around in surprise.

"Papa! When did you come? I didn't hear you at the door," Margaret stood up.

"I let myself in," Mr Hale said removing his overcoat.

Thornton shook his hand.

"You could make it after all," Mr Hale said with a smile.

Thornton was about to explain his presence, but Mr Hale continued, "So should we read Plato? He has some very interesting things to say about human nature and ethics. Where is my copy, Maggie?" Mr Hale asked sitting down in his chair near the fire.

"I will get it," Margaret said turning toward the bookshelf. The book was on one of the top rows and Margaret couldn't reach it.

"Shall I get it for you?" Thornton was standing right behind her.

Margaret immediately stepped away from him. Mr Thornton was looking at the books in the top row. He was so tall, Margaret barely reached up to his shoulders.

"It's on the second row from the top. Here," she said pointing at the book.

Thornton pulled out the book and gave it to her.

"You can take it to Papa. I will get the tea," Margaret said.

"Won't you read with us," Thornton asked her.

"I don't think we'll find our answers in Plato."

"Nonsense! Plato has all the answers," Mr Hale said from behind his chair.

"I think Plato is an old bore," Margaret whispered to Thornton, but loud enough for her father to hear.

"I heard that!"

"Very well then, but don't blame me if I fall asleep," Margaret grinned at her father, her good mood restored for the time being.

For nearly an hour, Mr Hale and Thornton discussed Plato over hot cups of tea while Margaret made occasional comments. Thornton realised that she was not joking when she said that she might fall asleep. He had caught her yawning on two occasions. She did it in such an artless, unselfconscious way. But when she yawned a third time, Thornton decided it was time to end the visit.

After Mr Hale saw Thornton to the door, he asked Margaret to sit with him for a while.

"Maggie, you shouldn't have spoken thus to John. I heard a good deal of your… disagreement from the hall."

"I am sorry, Papa. Mr Thornton may be a friend of yours but I cannot overlook his treatment of his workers."

"What has the poor fellow done that has upset you so? Most people that I have spoken to think he is a very fair Master. He is also generous and kind, I can vouch for it myself. When he found out from Bell that we were looking for accommodations, he immediately offered us this house."

"Because he was ..."

"And negotiated a lower rent," Mr Hale continued, ignoring Margaret's interruption. "Bell told him why we were moving to Milton and that I cannot pay for a large house."

Margaret digested this in silence. Mr Hale saw the battle being waged in his daughter's mind. She had a ridiculously easy face to read. She opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand to stop her.

"No, there is no need to apologise to him or thank him. We are not supposed to know about it. I, of course, got Bell to tell me about it but John doesn't know that we know. I don't want him to think that he is welcome in our house because he showed us kindness. I like the fellow because he is an interesting young man."

Chastened, Margaret got up and kissed her father.

"I shall try not to judge him harshly," she said.

"Or judge him without knowing all the facts," Mr Hale added. "He is one of the few manufacturers to have installed a device in his factory that helps to keep the air clear. So that the workers don't breath in cotton."

"Oh, Papa!" Margaret cried out mortified.

"Let that be a lesson to you, child," Mr Hale said patting her head.

Margaret had her heart in the right place but she had the blind fury of the righteous. The same fury that drove Fred to disobey his commander and declare revolt. Mr Hale did not want his daughter to do anything that she would live to regret her entire life. He had heard the entire argument and realised a good deal as well. That John was very much taken by Margaret any fool could see, except his Maggie. But that was nothing new. It had been the same with that pompous fellow, Henry. Thank God, Margaret had the good sense to refuse him. But John was of a different mould altogether. But he didn't know who he was dealing with in Margaret and Margaret didn't know who she was dealing with in John. He supposed watching them resolve their differences will be amusing and tiresome in equal parts. He yawned.

"I think I will take a little nap before dinner," he said and closed his eyes while Margaret sat quietly, still looking aghast.


	7. Chapter 7

_I just can't bring myself to write Fanny as a complete nit-wit. I refuse to believe that Mr Thornton's sister would be so ditzy - spoiled, yes; a gossip, yes but not a scatterbrain and certainly not rude or mean. Of course, I don't want to make her into a highly sensible young lady either, where would be the fun in that. So my Fanny is fun, sympathetic and occasionally inappropriate._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"Mrs and Miss Thornton to see you, Miss," Katie announced the next day.

Margaret looked up from her sketchbook.

This was unexpected. Margaret had begun to believe that Mr Thornton's mother did not regard a humble schoolmaster's family as worthy of her acquaintance. Which only went to show how insignificant and of little consequence her father and she were in Milton. But whatever could be reason for a visit now? Margaret suspected that Mr Thornton must have asked his mother to do so. After last night, he must have realised that she didn't have any proper friends in Milton. She couldn't decide if she was offended by the implication or grateful for his thoughtfulness. Probably, a bit of both.

"Have you showed them to the drawing room?" Margaret asked closing her sketchbook and putting back her pencils.

"Yes."

"Ask cook to prepare tea and some biscuits."

Now that she was here, Margaret had to admit that she was more than a little curious about Mr Thornton's mother. Bessie had said that Mrs Thornton was a formidable lady but Margaret was not afraid or impressed. Her own Dixon was quite a formidable woman. Dixon could make grown men cower and had successful chased off half a dozen of Margaret's undesirable suitors back in Helstone. Margaret had lived with Dixon her entire life and had survived unscathed and stronger; an hour in the company of Mrs Thornton would be a walk in the park.

But Margaret had not known about the sister. It was hard to imagine Mr Thornton with a sibling; him as a young boy. Frankly, it was hard to imagine him as anything but as he was now. Tall, proud and with that direct gaze. And with that temper. Margaret smoothed her skirt and checked her hair. She went downstairs quickly, not wanting to keep her guests waiting.

One look at Mrs Thornton and it was clear where her son got his proud bearing and scowl from. She was wearing a gown of black silk and sat erect with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Upon Margaret's entrance, both rose from the sofa. Mrs Thornton was rather tall.

"Mrs Thornton," Margaret bobbed her head in a small curtsy.

"Miss Hale," Hannah said with a slight tilt of her head.

"Miss Thornton," Margaret nodded her head.

"Miss Hale," Fanny did the same.

The sister didn't look at all like Mr Thornton. While the mother and son were all about composure, the sister was full of quick movements. She was pretty with bright eyes and wore an obviously expensive and fashionable gown.

Margaret gave both of them a warm smile. "It is kind of you to visit. Please sit down," she said.

"We would have come sooner but I wanted to give you time to settle in," Hannah said.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Margaret said.

"Your father is at the school, I believe."

"Yes."

"And your mother…?"

"She passed away when I was a young girl."

"Oh!" Fanny exclaimed.

Margaret looked at Fanny, who was looking at her with undisguised curiosity. She wasn't sure whether the "Oh" was said in shock or sympathy so she looked back at Mrs Thornton, who was looking at her as if she was expecting further explanation. Further explanation about what, Margaret wasn't sure. Margaret had no recollection of her mother. She was two when her mother died.

"And your father never remarried?"

Mrs Thornton certain didn't beat around the bush. Margaret couldn't recall being expected to share personal details of her family less than two minutes of making someone's acquaintance.

"No. We had Dixon, my late mother's maid. She raised me."

Mrs Thornton lifted her right brow.

"Along with Aunt Shaw, my mother's sister. She lives in London," Margaret added.

"London! Did you live in London?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, I have spent a few years in London and visit often," Margaret said.

"I would love to go to London. I do adore the concerts there. Do you sing?" Fanny asked.

"I am afraid not very well."

"Can you play the piano?"

"A little."

"Can you play any other instrument?"

"No"

"Do you ride?"

And on and on it went. Fanny asked her so many questions, it made Margaret's head spin. When Katie arrived with the tea, Margaret was glad for the reprieve. Once she handed them their cups, the onslaught continued. It was now Mrs Thornton's turn.

"How do you find Milton, Miss Hale?"

Margaret supposed there was no better way to answer the question than the truth. "I am afraid I don't understand the North too well."

"What don't you understand?"

"The customs, the people," Margaret hesitated, "the struggle between the workers and the Masters. Everything is so different and new to me. Things were simpler in Helstone."

Mrs Thornton regarded her a moment. "Do you wish to return to Helstone?"

Admitting that she wanted to return would be betraying her father and his judgement. But did she really want to return? Had Mrs Thornton asked her this question a week ago, Margaret realised that she might have said yes. But now? She thought about Bessie and Tom and Arthur and Ellie. She thought about her father. He looked happier and much more content in Milton, no longer plagued by doubt and his conscience.

"No. I only wish to understand the life here better," Margaret said with a smile.

"I see," Mrs Thornton said and then fell silent.

"Perhaps, you can join us for the concert next week," Fanny said brightly. "It's just as good as the concerts in London. Ann Latimer will be there as well. I will introduce you."

"I will be delighted," Margaret said.

"Excellent! Do you read?"

"Uh… yes."

"Novels?"

"Yes."

"What novel are you reading now?"

"_Pride and Prejudice_"

"Oh, I love it!" Fanny clapped her hands in delight.

Finally! Something that they have in common, Margaret sighed with relief.

"How far are you in the story?" Fanny asked.

"Elizabeth has just been invited to Rosings Park for dinner."

"Oh, you are about to get to the best part! Please do read it quickly so that we can discuss it," Fanny said eagerly.

"I would love that, Miss Thornton," Margaret said a bit surprised at Miss Thornton's sudden enthusiasm towards her.

"Please call me Fanny," Fanny said with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"Then you must call me Margaret," Margaret returned her smile.

"Done! What other novels have you recently read?"

And on and on it went again. But this time Margaret didn't mind the questions. Fanny, she realised, thought and spoke with dizzying speed. Her mind moved from one topic to the next without missing a beat. Margaret found herself trying to keep up with her.

While Margaret and Fanny were discussing _Sense and Sensibility_, Hannah was trying to make up her mind about Miss Hale. She could clearly see her appeal. The girl had the kind of face that would stop men in their tracks. Her manners and movements were graceful but they also had the quick, playful quality of youth. Not many men would stand a chance against that. But she had expected Miss Hale to be beautiful—had not John said so himself. What Hannah was interested in was what sort of girl she was and here she was indeed surprised. She may be from the South but the girl was no blushing rose. She was honest and direct, with none of the superior Southern manner about her. She seemed like a supremely capable girl. She couldn't be more than twenty but she was already running a house. Of course, it's not a big house, but still. Although a shawl was tossed carelessly on one of the chairs and a few books were lying on a corner table (Hannah itched to put them back in their place), the room was tidy, not a speck of dust (quite a miracle in Milton), Hannah noted with satisfaction. The maid had come with the tea quickly enough and the biscuits were hot from the oven, which was evidence of a well-run kitchen. She treated Hannah with the right amount of deference and if she can keep up with Fanny, Hannah figured she owed the girl some measure of respect.

"I could show you some of the parks in Milton. It must have been dreadful getting lost," Fanny said.

"Err… yes, that would be lovely, thank you," Margaret said, wondering where Fanny got the idea that she had lost her way.

"Had you gone out far?" Fanny asked.

For a moment, Margaret had no clue what Fanny was talking about. Then it hit her. Yesterday, at the hill. Did Mr Thornton tell his family about the incident? If yes, what exactly did he say? Margaret realised that both Fanny and Mrs Thornton were waiting for her reply.

"A bit," Margaret said.

"It's good that you found John," Fanny said.

"Yes," Margaret said. "Really fortunate," she added, recalling the thugs who had followed her.

Margaret's confusion and guarded reply were not lost on Mrs Thornton. She wondered what part of the story had John left out. Mrs Thornton sighed. John was a grown man and she had no business asking where and who he spent his time with. So far she had been satisfied with Miss Hale. She obviously hadn't much by way of fortune (not that John needed to marry an heiress) but if John liked her, she would do alright. That Miss Hale may not want to marry John was something that never occurred to Hannah.

"Miss Hale, please do not hesitate to come to me if you need any help," Mrs Thornton said rising from her chair.

"That's kind of you, Mrs Thornton. Thank you," Margaret said.

They made their farewell, with promises with meet soon. Margaret watched as the mother and the daughter climbed their elegant carriage and drove off.

Returning to the room, Margaret slumped into the chair. Mr Thornton's family. The mother was more or less what she had expected but the sister! She had been surprised by Fanny's offer of friendship. But God, she was hilarious and exhausting. She laughed as she tried to picture Mr Thornton having a conversation with Fanny. Oh, she would gladly visit the Thorntons just to see the two siblings interact. With that happy thought, she popped a biscuit into her mouth and went back to her sketchbook.

Later that evening, after dinner, Thornton sat through an elaborate discussion and dissection of Margaret's character, which Fanny conducted all by herself. He had been reading the newspaper while his mother sat with her embroidery. Fanny declared Margaret to be "reasonable pretty"; it was a shame that she was not blonde, for then, she could truly be called beautiful. It was also a shame that she could not sing or play the piano. But she was a great reader like her and had promised to give her a copy of Mr Dickens' latest novel.

"She doesn't have any airs, although she has lived in London," Fanny said.

"Her gown was rather plain. I promised to show her some of the latest patterns," she continued.

Thornton was quite sure that Margaret did not favour silly flounces and ribbons or the latest fashions. He himself loved the simplicity of Margaret's gowns. The simple cut and the demure colours became her, even though, he was beginning to realise that she was not a very demure young lady. This evening, she had not said anything to him except "Good evening, Mr Thornton" and "Good night, Mr Thornton." She had been engrossed in her book and stirred only to pour out the tea. Thornton had been glad for the peace, but also disappointed. As much as he admired looking at her, he found that he liked it better when she was talking—arguing, he corrected himself.

He wondered what his mother thought of Margaret. She hadn't contributed anything to the discussion. She had earlier said that she didn't expect to like Margaret much.

"Mama, I hope you will invite the Hales to the annual dinner party," Fanny turned towards her mother.

"What do you think, John," Hannah asked without raising her head from the embroidery.

"Mother, it's your dinner party. You are the hostess and it is your guest list," Thornton said, wondering why his mother was suddenly deferring the decision to him.

"Do invite them, mama. I quite like Margaret," Fanny said. Thornton turned to look at Fanny. He was rather surprised at his sister's interest in Margaret. Margaret was not at all like her other friends. But who knew what went on in Fanny's head. He turned back to his mother.

She looked at Thornton and said, "Any friend of yours is welcome at our house. I will send out the invitation," and with that she went back to her embroidery.

That was all she was going to say but knowing his mother, Thornton understood that she must have revised her opinion of Margaret. His mother would not tolerate anyone merely for his sake. And if she thought Margaret, despite her being a mere school teacher's daughter, was good enough to attend her annual dinner party, then that was high praise indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Margaret decided to visit Bessie and the children. Margaret had belatedly wondered where Bessie left the children when she went to work. She would like to have them over at her house during the day. But Katie told her that the children were at the mill with Bessie.

Bessie had asked the overseer to allow the children to stay in the mill yard during the day. If she was going to visit Bessie, then she might as well visit Fanny and Mrs Thornton, Margaret decided. Her father had told her that Mr Thornton lived close to the mill.

The mill looked as busy as the first time she had been there. Margaret saw a few young girls resting against the wall. She recognised Bessie among them.

"If it isn't Miss Margaret," Bessie grinned and called her to join the group.

"How are you Bessie?" Margaret asked.

"Better. Are you here to meet the family?"

"Yes. But I am also came to see you and the children," Margaret looked around. "Where are they?"

"Right there," Bessie pointed out a small shed in the corner of the yard. It didn't seem particularly safe to her. If the children were not careful, they might get in the way of one of the carts.

"They will be fine," Bessie said reading her thoughts. "They have been in worse places."

"I'll go meet them," Margaret said to Bessie and walked towards the shed.

"Margie!" Ellie jumped with delight.

"How are you? Tom, Arthur," Margaret shook their little hands.

"Margie can help us" Ellie said to Tom, who was the eldest.

"Help you with what?"

"Mr Woof," Tom replied.

"What happened to Mr Woof?"

"We don't know," Ellie said.

"I saw him go in but—" said Arthur, the youngest of the children.

"You should have caught him," Tom admonished.

"But Bessie said not to go inside," Arthur said.

"Now he will be crushed by the big machine," Tom finished dramatically.

Margaret listened to this little conversation with increasing alarm. All three turned their heads and looked at her with pleading eyes. Apparently, it was now her job to rescue the dog.

"Did you tell Bessie? She can help," Margaret said.

"No!" all three said in unison.

"You brought Mr Woof without telling her? How did you—"

"We only got him today," Ellie said, "We didn't want him to be all alone all day. He doesn't like it."

"And now you have lost him. Do you now understand why Bessie said not to bring Mr Woof?" she tried to look stern but the three pulled such comically sad faces that she gave up. Margaret had no idea how to search for Mr Woof. She certainly wasn't going to go inside the mill and start looking. Bessie will have to be told. Margaret turned around to call Bessie. Surely, there must be a way to find the dog without the entire mill knowing about it.

Suddenly, a shriek was heard from inside the building. It was followed by another and then another and then one more.

Oh dear, Margaret thought to herself knowing fully well the cause of the uproar.

There was commotion and loud footsteps could be heard from the building. The footsteps were headed towards the main door. Margaret, the three children, Bessie, and all the workers in the yard stood frozen, staring at the main door not knowing what to expect.

There was a moment of complete silence and then the main door was flung open and Mr Woof burst out. He was being chased by the workers. Mr Woof was entangled in yarn. He dashed out and bounded down the stairs, yarn flying behind him. The workers who had chased him out stopped at the door and watched as the little creature ran off. A moment later, Mr Thornton was at the door, looking like thunder. Mr Woof ran into the yard and straight towards the first familiar face that he saw. He stopped at Margaret's feet and started jumping up and down, panting. Margaret picked him up.

The whole thing was so absurd and ridiculous that Margaret had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. But she was not the only one who found the episode comical. When everyone saw in clear broad daylight that it a little dog that had caused so much uproar, a disbelieving silence descended upon them. One of the girls standing with Bessie giggled and immediately covered her mouth. That was all it took for the mill to erupt into merry laughter.

"Get back to work, everyone," Thornton ordered. He climbed down the front stairs and headed towards Margaret. The overseer, Williams, followed him as well.

"I didn't know the children had a dog," he was saying to Thornton.

Thornton didn't say anything. His eyes were fixed on Margaret.

"I'll have the dog thrown out. The children, too," Williams was saying.

"A little late for that, don't you think?" Thornton looked at Williams with annoyance. "Go inside and see if there has been any damage. And get those frightened spinners back to work."

"Right, sir," with that Williams was gone.

Thornton looked at the children, who were cautiously peeking out behind Margaret. The eldest of them had decided to be brave and had stepped out a little. They must be Stephens', Thornton realised. He did not know that when he had allowed Williams to let the children stay in the mill yard that they had been Stephens'. Thornton would occasionally allow his workers to keep their young children in the yard. It made sense because the workers would then not ask for the day off and the production won't suffer. The yard shed had been put up for that purpose. Thornton had agreed to the arrangement on the condition that it was Williams' responsibility to make sure that the children never wandered anywhere near the mill or obstructed work in any way.

As he approached Margaret, he was dismayed to find that she was regarding him with something approaching dread. Good Lord, did she really think that he would kick the little dog for disrupting work.

"I used to have a dog when I was a young boy," Thornton said to her and reached out to take the little creature from her arms.

Margaret was so stunned by the unexpected confession that she found herself without an intelligent reply. She let Mr Thornton take the dog from her. Thornton started carefully freeing it from the yarn. Margaret couldn't help but look at Mr Thornton's hands. He had big, strong, capable hands. His fingers were long and surprising graceful. She had seen those very hands curl into fists and mercilessly beat Stephens but now, they were gentle and tender as he caressed the dog. She watched fascinated. She will have to draw his hands, she thought to herself.

"What's his name?" Thornton asked the little girl, who was no longer hiding behind the folds of Margaret's gown.

"Mr Woof," Ellie said nervously.

Thornton threw back his head and laughed at that. Margaret felt her entire world shift a little. She had never seen Mr Thornton laugh and now that she had seen it, she realised she had never seen anything so… so wonderful. The deep sound of his laughter filled her with warmth. His entire face changed and he looked so terribly handsome and carefree. Not that Mr Thornton wasn't handsome when he wasn't laughing, but Margaret had been so busy finding faults with him that she never paid any attention to the fact. But now, she stared at him rather shamelessly.

Thornton was completely engrossed with Mr Woof. He raised the dog so that it was now nose to nose with him. "Mr Woof," he peered into its tiny face and chuckled. He handed the dog to Ellie with a smile that made Margaret's stomach flip. What was wrong with her! This was Mr Thornton—she didn't like him, she reminded herself.

"What was your dog's name, Master?" Ellie asked feeling emboldened by Thornton's smile.

"Captain," Thornton said. "Mr Woof is a good dog. You should put a lease on him so that he doesn't run away," Thornton told Tom.

Tom nodded sagely and then took Ellie's hand and the three children went back to the shed.

Thornton watched them go and then, still smiling, turned his gaze back to Margaret. It took a moment for Margaret to school her features into something other than astonishment.

"I see that I have disappointed you, Miss Hale" Thornton teased her.

Margaret to her embarrassment found that she didn't have an intelligent reply to that either.

"I have come to meet your mother and sister," she blurted out.

"The entrance to the house is on the other road," Thornton pointed out. He was pleased to hear that she wanted to meet his family.

"I have also come to see how Bessie is doing," Margaret said looking at where Bessie and her group were standing.

Thornton looked in the same direction and immediately the girls stopped leaning against the wall and stood up straight. "I shall not detain you any longer then. I believe their break will be over soon," Thornton gave her a quick smile and went back into the building.

Margaret joined Bessie and the girls.

"Wonders never cease," Bessie said smiling slyly at Margaret.

"Mr Thornton used to have a dog," Margaret quickly explained lest Bessie attribute Mr Thornton's unprecedented display of good humour to her presence.

"If I'd known, we would have brought the pup sooner," Bessie said.

"He isn't bad at all," one of the younger girls in the group said.

"Papa told me that Mr Thornton has fitted the mill with a device to keep the cotton away," Margaret said.

"That's right. The wheels. Father got me work here because of the wheels."

"Does it help?"

"It is better here than at Watson's but I don't suppose it will cure me," Bessie said with a shrug of her shoulders.

They all fell silent. Everybody knew Bessie was very ill. "I reckon it is better here than most mills," the young girl said, trying to change the subject.

"Back to work, you lot!" Williams hollered from across the yard.

"Except for that old fool," Bessie said with a smile.

Margaret watched as Bessie and the girls disappeared inside the mill. She said good bye to the children and took the road as Mr Thornton had instructed. It didn't take her long to find the house. The Thornton residence was quite big and imposing. Margaret knocked at the door. It was opened by the butler.

Margaret gave her name and she was shown into the drawing room. The house was simply and sensibly furnished. There was an air of quiet wealth about the place.

Fanny came down quickly. She was delighted to see her so soon and even more delighted when Margaret gave her the Dickens' novel that she had promised. Mrs Thornton joined them a few minutes later and after exchanging pleasantries was content to pour out the tea and let Fanny and Margaret talk. Fanny was now determined that Margaret must attend the concert which was to take place next week. She told her about the entire programme and who all will be attending.

"It will be an excellent introduction for Margaret to the Milton society. Don't you agree, Mama?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, dear," Hannah nodded indulgently towards her daughter.

"It's settled then. We will get Margaret on the way to the Hall. You shall come with us."

Margaret found that she had no say in the matter. But an evening spent listening to music had much to commend it, so Margaret agreed to the arrangement. After spending some more time chatting, it was time to end the visit.

As soon as Margaret returned home, she ran to her room. She took out her sketchbook and pencils and started drawing. She had been planning to draw Mr Thornton's hands but after a few minutes, she realised that his hands were not the only thing she wanted to draw. She wanted to draw him as he had looked when he had laughed. Margaret was quite accomplished at drawing portraits. She had enjoyed drawing as a young girl and had never needed a tutor. She had sketchbooks filled with pictures of her family, mostly of Fred, who the family joked was her muse. He would never sit still but Margaret knew every line of his face so that had proved to be no huddle. She had drawn the people she knew in Helstone, her aunt and her cousin, Edith, and Edith's husband, Capt. Lennox. She had even drawn a portrait of Henry Lennox, which he had mistaken as a sign of her regard for him.

When they moved to Milton, Margaret feared that she would never find anything that would make her want to draw. But after meeting Bessie and the children, she had been inspired to take out her pencils again. But now, she was consumed with the desire to draw Mr Thornton. The fact that his laughter had been so unexpected and that it will likely not be repeated gave an urgency to the drawing. She wanted to capture it on paper before her memory faded. She sat with her pencil poised above the paper and closed her eyes to remember his laugh. Her stomach tightened at the memory much as it had when she had witnessed it. Somewhat breathless and with tingling fingers and knots in her stomach, Margaret began drawing Mr Thornton.


	9. Chapter 9

Margaret's life had settled into a comfortable routine. She would spend most of the mornings helping with the household chores—ironing and folding the laundry, mending the linen, chopping vegetables. Dixon would have perished on the spot if she had seen Margaret perform any of these menial tasks; which is why Mr Hale had thought it best to send Dixon to London, where she now lived with her sister. It had not been an easy task. Dixon had protested against moving Margaret to Milton so vehemently that her father had to remind Dixon that Margaret was his daughter and he knew what was best for her. Dixon had responded with the mightiest scowl in all of Christendom.

But in the end, Mr Hale had prevailed. As much as Margaret loved Dixon, she loved her new found independence even more. But Dixon had unknowing taught her well. Margaret found that she knew what was expected of her as the mistress of the house and she enjoyed her position very much. Both hers and her father's needs were quite simple. Margaret had never understood the fuzz that Dixon made about running the house like a drill sergeant or haranguing the servants till they shook with fear every time you entered the kitchen. Margaret was proud that her household was a cheerful place and that even the ever-complaining cook had been won over.

On some days, in the afternoon, she would go to the mill to meet her friends. The lines on Bessie's face was slowly starting to deepen, her body was racked by the occasional painful cough, but her smile was still as serene and still as impish. The children regaled her with the new games that they had devised and Mr Woof, now with a lease on him, proved himself very well-behaved. She didn't see Mr Thornton again at the mill except once when she caught him looking at her from the window. He had nodded to acknowledge her and then stepped away.

After meeting Bessie, Margaret would drop by the Thornton residence to visit Fanny. The contrast between the two worlds was so sharp, Margaret thought that it was as though someone had changed the scenery behind her just as in the plays that she had seen in London. While her conversations with Bessie mostly revolved around the strike and the condition of the workers, her conversations with Fanny were about music, books and clothes and in that order. Fanny had proved to be a delightful friend, talking nineteen to the dozen. She preferred light-hearted novels, novel of adventure and intrigue and had no patience for poems. On other afternoons, Margaret would remain at home and read or write letters to her cousin describing her new life in Milton.

The evenings were spent in the company of her father and Mr Thornton. After their big quarrel and her conversation with her father about Mr Thornton's kindness toward them, Margaret thought it best to play the gracious, dutiful hostess as her father and Mr Thornton talked of literature, politics and the impending strike. She had another reason as well. By retiring to a corner with her book, she was able to observe Mr Thornton unnoticed.

Drawing from memory alone had proved to be rather difficult even for someone as skilled as her. Margaret had abandoned the sketch in frustration. She had managed to put on paper some broad strokes to indicate the shape of his head and his eyes, nose and mouth. To her annoyance, she found that she did not know his features in sufficient detail to continue. Still, the few lines that she had drawn were accurate and if anyone had seen those tentative lines, there would be no doubt in their minds as to whose likeness they were.

After a few days of surreptitiously studying Mr Thornton's face, Margaret had to concede that he was a remarkably handsome man. His blue eyes were deep-set and clear. They were framed by straight brow, which fell low over his eyes. He had a high forehead; a sharp, prominent nose; and the lines of his jaws were well-defined. His smile was warm and charming. It completely transformed his face. It made him even more handsome. She looked and committed the details to memory and then in her room, at night, she would practice the feature that she had studied that evening. She was now able to draw him with a fair degree of success. But the laughter eluded her. Her memory of his laugh had not entirely faded, but it was getting blurry around the edges. Yet it had lost none of its power with regard to its effect on her.

One day as she was absorbed in studying the lines around his mouth, she was jolted to find it arrange itself into a disapproving line. Her father and Mr Thornton were discussing the workers and their cause. Of course, Margaret thought grimly.

"They know nothing about the trade and yet, they would like to dictate to us. They think business is the same as last year and that we are being unreasonable in refusing them the same wages. And now they are threatening to go on strike," Mr Thornton was saying.

"Why don't you tell them that the trade is bad?" Margaret asked. It was the most obvious question and Margaret couldn't stop herself from asking it. Margaret immediately looked at her father apologetically. Her father had made it clear that he held Mr Thornton in esteem and she did not wish to upset him by quarrelling with his friend again.

"You took the words out of my mouth, Maggie," Mr Hale said smiling encouragingly at Margaret. When he had asked her to not judge Mr Thornton harshly, he had not desired for her to stop speaking to him all together. He turned to Thornton, "Why can't you tell them that the business is not that same as last year? Surely if you explained to your workers, are they not likely to withdraw their demand?"

"We had tried explaining to them in the past. But they won't believe us. They would rather believe the union leaders. They think that we Masters are busy filling our pockets while leaving them out to starve. It's fruitless to reason with them."

"But is it fair to lump them all together? Are all of them so unreasoning and prejudiced against the Masters?" Margaret countered.

"Perhaps not all," he conceded. "But those few do not matter. It is the union that we deal with and the union men are not at all inclined to give the Masters the benefit of doubt. They do not wish to hear of the difficulties that we face. The economising and efficiencies that we have to think about. It's easier for them to think of us as the cause of all their sufferings and problems."

"But have not the Masters also made it easy for them to think so? If you cannot increase their wages, then are there not other ways to help them? Perhaps by taking an interest in their lives, by advising them how to spend their money."

"This is where you do not know the North," Thornton said with a smile. "Here in North, we value our independence. I assure you that my taking an interest in how they spend their money will be regarded as the worst sort of insult and meddling."

"What about simple acts of compassion?" Margaret asked.

"Milton men have too much pride to accept charity from the very men they believe are responsible for their suffering. The only compassion and kindness I can show them is by running the mill as efficiently as I can. If I fail in this duty, the workers will cease to have an income."

"Is there no way then to stop this conflict, this hostility?"

"If there is a way, I do not know of it," Thornton said with an air of resignation. "Perhaps with time and patience, we can try to take away some of the bitterness they feel towards us. But I don't see it happening in my lifetime."

Margaret had been glad that her father was present during this conversation. Initially, it was out of regard for him that she stopped herself from interrupting Mr Thornton at various points during his speech. But later she had been glad that she held her tongue. Whatever she knew of the strike had been gathered from Bessie who was mostly repeating her father's thoughts and opinions. As for the workers' condition, she had the evidence of her own eyes. Margaret had been to the Princeton district enough times and had spoken to a few of Bessie's neighbours. Her heart broke at the sadness and deprivation that she had seen there. But now listening to Mr Thornton explain the Master's side of the story and the economics behind the wages and the decisions had been sobering. She had been ready to condemn the Masters as unfeeling and cruel but she was now beginning to understand some of the Master's dilemma and challenges.

She wondered why no one would see what she saw so clearly. How could two classes of people dependent on each other in every possible way, regard the interests of the other as opposed to their own? She felt as though she was standing at the midway point between the Masters and the workers, able to see what each party refused to see but too inconsequential to change anything.

But tonight, as she sat in front of her mirror, she did not want to burden her heart and mind by thinking about the fate of the people of Milton. Tonight was for music. Tonight was the night of the concert and Fanny will soon arrive to take her along. Margaret had a few evening and dinner gowns that she and Aunt Shaw had got made during her last visit to London. Aunt Shaw had an exceptional eye and judgement when it came to matters of style and Margaret had benefited greatly from following her advice.

The gown that Margaret decided to wear to the concert was a simple and elegant full dress in pale pink with ivory tulle and lace around the skirt bottom and the neck. She also wore gloves of the same colour and an opera cloak that Aunt Shaw had insisted that all proper young ladies should wear when attending an opera or concert. After a final look in the mirror and an enthusiastic nod of approval from Katie, Margaret went downstairs to wait for Fanny.

Her father was seated in the armchair by the fire and he looked up when she entered. "Ah!" that was all he said but the warm, proud look in his face conveyed more than any words could.

"Papa, I hope you won't spend the entire night here in this chair," Margaret said looking at the milk and the small dinner that was set out on a stool next to the armchair. Her father had finally remembered to tell her that Mr Thornton will not be coming to read with him today and had asked for a simple, early dinner which he can eat snuggled by the fire.

"Don't worry about me. I will be fine. There is still some life in these old bones," Mr Hale said.

They heard the sound of a carriage approach and stop outside their door.

"Good night, Papa and don't stay up late," she said giving him a kiss.

"Have a good time, Maggie."

Margaret went outside and saw Fanny looking out from the window. When the footman stepped down to open the carriage door and help her in, Margaret realised with a sinking heart that Mr Thornton was absent. When her father had told her that Mr Thornton was not coming to read tonight, she had assumed that it meant that he will be accompanying his sister and mother to the concert. She tried to hide her disappointment. But once inside the carriage, she realised that Fanny was the only occupant. Mrs Thornton was absent as well.

"Mrs Thornton is not coming?" Margaret asked.

"No. Mother doesn't really care for concerts. Besides she wanted to wait for John when he returns from the manufacturer's meeting," Fanny said with a sad shrug.

As Margaret looked at Fanny, she realised that Fanny was actually lonely. She hadn't yet seen the brother and sister together but whenever Fanny spoke of Mr Thornton there was none of the playful, warm tone with which Margaret would always speak of Fred. Mrs Thornton clearly indulged her daughter but she was not one for much conversation. And Fanny was all about conversation.

"All they every do is talk about the mill and workers and wages and strike and cotton. Deadly boring," Fanny folded her arms and pouted. "I don't even like cotton. I prefer silk," Fanny said.

Before Margaret could say anything, Fanny had started talking about the silk gown that she planned to wear to the dinner and so the two girls spent the ride talking about clothes.

The Hall was a modest-sized building where musical concerts and scientific lectures took place. Tonight, the entrance was brightly lit and the place wore a festive look. Margaret and Fanny stepped down from the carriage, checked their cloaks and shawls and with Fanny clutching Margaret's hand, entered the large waiting area. Fanny twisted her head this way and that to find Ann Latimer.

"There she is!" Fanny said waving in the direction of a young woman.

Ann Latimer was a pretty young girl with delicate features and a mass of blonde hair piled atop her head. Like Fanny, she was dressed in the latest fashion and carried a beautiful fan. As Fanny and Margaret approached her, Margaret saw Ann give her a shrewd, assessing look.

Ann had not been able to get a very good look at Margaret when she had seen her walking with Mr Thornton that day. She couldn't believe that the usually reserved and aloof Mr Thornton was walking with a young lady and that he seemed quite attentive to her. She had met Mr Thornton a couple of times and had given him her most winning smile but all she got was a polite nod. Ann was now determined that Mr Thornton should take note of her and a friendship with Fanny was the most logical step in that direction. Which is why she had been rather vexed with Fanny's growing friendship with Margaret. Ann had tried to obtain as much information from her about Margaret. She was told that Margaret was pretty, friendly, liked to read and wore rather simple gowns. Ann dismissed the "pretty" bit as not terribly relevant. Her vanity would not allow her to believe that Margaret could be more beautiful than her. The bit about the "simple gowns" had made Ann quite happy; after all, a school teacher's daughter would not be able to afford the same fashion as the daughter of a wealthy banker. And a fashionable wardrobe, according to Ann, was half the battle won.

Ann had been preparing to triumph over Miss Hale tonight but the woman Fanny introduced was not only stunningly beautiful but the dress that she was wearing, though not the latest fashion, was undeniably pretty and looked expensive.

I will have to rethink my strategy, Ann thought as she smiled serenely at Margaret.


	10. Chapter 10

She doesn't like me, was Margaret's first thought upon being introduced to Ann Latimer. It was her smile, Margaret decided. It didn't reach her eyes. That and the slight air of superiority with which she was regarding Margaret.

"Now that I can see it properly, it _is_ divine," Fanny said looking at Margaret's gown.

"Indeed," Ann said. "Although I don't recall seeing this pattern in any of this year's books."

"You won't find that pattern anywhere. It was made at Madame Emeraude's modiste!" Fanny said hoping Ann would be greatly impressed.

Ann made no comment.

"In London! Can you imagine that?" Fanny practically shouted in delight.

"Not at all," Ann said looking at Margaret.

While Fanny's barely suppressed joy stemmed from the fact that she was beholding a gown made at the most fashionable modiste in London, Ann's barely disguised surprise stemmed from the fact that the daughter of a schoolteacher could afford to get her dress made at the most fashionable modiste in London. Neither reactions nor the cause of them was lost on Margaret.

"You have relations in London?" Ann enquired politely.

"Yes, my aunt lives there."

"Hanover Square," Fanny said in hushed reverential tones.

"Of course," Ann gave Margaret a condescending little smile. Margaret understood at once that Ann saw her as the poor relation and the gown as an act of charity by a rich aunt.

Margaret wished she could tell the snooty Miss Latimer that the gown was not an act of charity. Aunt Shaw may be wealthy but she regarded Margaret as her own daughter and had never treated her any differently than Edith. Her father might now be a mere schoolteacher but he used to be the clergyman in Helstone and Helstone was quite a large parish and they had lived very comfortably and were nobody's poor relation.

Instead, Margaret found herself doing what she did when she was annoyed, she smiled tightly at Ann, turned on her heel and went straight towards the refreshment table. A glass of cool lemonade should help calm her down.

How in the world were Fanny and Ann friends, Margaret wondered. Fanny did not have one mean bone in her body; she had a childlike enthusiasm and honesty, but Fanny was also somewhat self-absorbed and oblivious to a lot of things. That's the only way to explain her friendship with Ann, Margaret realised.

"Seeking refuge?" a familiar voice asked her.

Margaret turned around and found Andrew Webster smiling at her.

"Miss Hale," he bowed.

"Mr Webster," Margaret smiled back at him. She had enjoyed his company when he had walked her home after the disastrous first meeting with Mr Thornton.

"So was I right?" he asked getting himself a glass as well.

"Well, yes," she said. "But not from Miss Thornton," she quickly added.

"I never doubted that," he said looking at Fanny who was engrossed in a conversation with Ann.

"We have become rather good friends," Margaret said. "It was her idea that I should attend the concert as an introduction to Milton society."

"And how do you find Milton society?"

Margaret wondered if she should tell him the truth. Her brief conversation with Mr Webster had left her with a favourable impression of him. He had acted a gentleman and had quickly put her at ease and managed to make her laugh. It had helped her briefly forget the violence that she had witnessed at the mill that day. But most of all, Mr Webster reminded her of Fred. They looked nothing alike but Mr Webster had the same easy manner and laugh that Fred had. But easy-going or not, he couldn't possibly understand how Milton society was likely to view her—if Miss Latimer was any indication—and how it made her feel.

"Miss Hale, in case you are wondering if I will be offended by an honest answer then please do not worry on that account. I am no more from the North than you are," Andrew said with a grin.

Seeing the astonished look on Margaret's face, he continued, "I am from Wiltshire. I came to Milton three years ago."

"Then I shall not hold back," Margaret recovered and replied with a cheeky grin.

"But I should warn you that they do consider me one of their own now."

"Ah, but a gentleman would never betray a confidence."

"You have me there, Miss Hale," Andrew conceded with a laugh. "But do tell me, what do you make of Milton?"

"I suppose I could say the obvious that it is as different from the South as can possibly be," Margaret said. "It is cold and harsh. It is all smoke and money. I have never seen so much suffering and conflict and unkindness. Sometimes, I think God has forsaken this place."

Andrew listened to her speech in silence. Margaret didn't realise where the words had come from. She had meant to say something witty but found herself giving an honest but brutal answer.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to say such a terrible thing," Margaret flustered.

"No, Miss Hale. I believe you have spoken the truth. The truth as you see it. But it is not the only truth. Milton is also a place of change, of progress. A man can build a fortune here; he can rise and grow in the esteem of his fellowmen. Here, who you are or where you came from does not matter; we are, most of us here, self-made," Andrew said.

"You sound like Mr Thornton," Margaret couldn't help but point out.

"Is that a bad thing? I hope you do not think unkindly of him. He is one of the best men I have met. He took me under his wing, so to speak. I came to Milton with nothing and he took a chance on me; taught me business, gave me opportunities. I do not know of many men who would show such kindness to a stranger."

Andrew spoke with such honest admiration for Mr Thornton that Margaret felt she owed him an explanation.

"You mistake me, Mr Webster. I know Mr Thornton is a good man but I do wish he would show the workers some kindness. He tells us that he cannot help them but surely there must be a way. I do not understand business or the running of a mill but what good is any of it if it cannot aid a fellow human."

"Mr Thornton has done more for his workers than any Master. He will of course not admit it but I can assure you of that. Why the wheels that he has put inside the mill cost him quite a sum. The other mill owners would never allow such an expense. If that is not kindness then what is?"

Margaret felt mortified at once again being caught judging Mr Thornton unfairly. But how was she to know of this side of him. Didn't Mr Thornton himself say that he couldn't afford compassion; didn't he always present himself as a businessman first. She had heard him speak endlessly of business and good business sense with her father. He had politely but firmly refused her father's suggestion of arranging his workers to attend evening classes. He still refused to believe that talking to his workers and explaining things to them would make any positive difference. And he absolutely refused to take Stephens back.

When Margaret didn't say anything, Mr Webster continued smoothly, "But please, do not tell him that I told you this. He will dismiss me on the spot if he finds out that I have been disparaging his great business sense in public."

"Of course, you can trust me to not—" Margaret stopped when she realised that Mr Webster was grinning at her.

Margaret smiled back at him with sudden affection. God, he was so much like Fred. Her eyes almost misted over. She also knew in that instant that Mr Webster had no designs on her and that he regarded her as no more than a friend.

From the other end of the room, Ann had been watching Margaret and Mr Webster talking. She noted that they seemed to be getting along quite well. Ann smiled to herself.

"I say, isn't Mr Webster from the South?" Ann asked, her eyes still on the couple.

Fanny turned around to look at them as well. "Wiltshire, I think," Fanny said.

"Ah!" Ann said and then after a significant pause added, "No wonder."

Fanny whipped her head back to Ann. "You think—"

"What do _you_ think?" Ann said gently turning Fanny around so that she could once again see the couple.

It was clear that Margaret and Mr Webster were enjoying each other's company. Mr Webster was telling her something and Margaret was listening with a smile on her face. But that was nothing unusual. Fanny knew Mr Webster quite well and she knew that he was always friendly and quite charming with the ladies. Her mother didn't particularly like him but John trusted him and the two had formed a sort of friendship, even though John was his employer. Mr Webster had always been able to make her laugh and like her, he was very fond of music. Now watching Mr Webster and Margaret laugh, Fanny wondered if there was more to it as Ann was suggesting. Fanny started to walk towards them but Ann pulled her back.

"Really Fanny! You should leave them alone," Ann said with a knowing smile.

"But—" Fanny began.

"Didn't Mr Webster himself seek her out?" Ann interrupted. Fanny was proving surprisingly resistant to the idea of Margaret and Mr Webster.

Fanny received this bit of information in silence. Well, that is certainly interesting. Mr Webster should have ideally greeted her first but if he had singled out Margaret then perhaps, Ann was right. But just then, Margaret suddenly looked at her and smiled and a second later, Fanny saw both Margaret and Mr Webster heading in their direction.

"Miss Thornton," Mr Webster took her hand and dropped a gallant kiss on her knuckles.

"Miss Latimer," he bowed.

"It was very thoughtful of you to bring Miss Hale tonight," Mr Webster said to Fanny.

"I was telling Miss Thornton exactly that. It is wonderful to see Miss Hale make new friends," Ann said smiling sweetly.

Andrew looked at Miss Latimer in surprise. This must be the first time she had spoken to a full sentence to him. He had met her a few times and on each occasions she had done no more than briefly nod in his general direction. She was a spoiled rich Miss who considered herself the queen of Milton society. When he had seen Miss Hale walk away after exchanging a few words with Miss Latimer, he was quite sure what must have happened. But now Miss Latimer was smiling at him and Andrew had the uneasy feeling that he had unknowingly done or said something that made her very happy. If he knew what it was, he would make sure never to do it again. But presently, he turned his attention back to the Miss Thornton.

"I think they have opened the door to the chamber. I am sure you will want to sit in the front," he said to Fanny.

"Yes, let's go. I hate to sit in the back," Fanny said, for the moment forgetting all about Margaret and Mr Webster.

Margaret not wanting to spend another moment in the company of Miss Latimer quickly agreed to Mr Webster's suggestion and the three made their way into the recital chamber, with Ann trailing behind them. Ann overlooked the slight. The little fools were falling right into her plan and she couldn't be happier.

Fanny, Margaret and Ann sat in the front row and Andrew, after securing them seats, sat in the back row. With so many of Milton's influential crowd eyeing seats in the front rows, he knew better than to upset them by claiming one of the coveted seats.

As the performance began, Margaret found that she was not able to pay any attention to the music. Her mind was busy trying to reconcile the different accounts that she had heard of Mr Thornton and her own feelings about him. That he was a fair and good Master seems to be the universal opinion and she was willing to concede that that was most likely true. But she had never once heard him speak of the workers with sympathy. He seemed to believe that if they were poor and miserable, then it is their fault. This lack of sympathy bothered Margaret deeply. She knew that he didn't really approve of her friendship with Bessie or her visits to the Princeton district. He never said anything—after all, he had no right to tell her how to live her life—but she could sense his disapproval and that annoyed her. Besides, if Margaret were to be honest with herself, it was better for her to not like Mr Thornton.

Margaret was still alarmed by her own reactions and traitorous feelings to his physical presence. She wished with all her heart that she wasn't so aware of him whenever he was around. But Mr Thornton was the kind of man who was very difficult to overlook. He was tall, powerfully built and carried himself with such pride and dignity that he was bound to attract notice wherever he went. And as if that wasn't enough, he had to be devastatingly handsome as well. Drat the man! Even now, when he was not around, she couldn't stop thinking about him. The disappointment she felt at his absence tonight still refused to go away. Why should it be so, she wondered. After all, she saw him practically every day. One day without Mr Thornton ought to be a reprieve. And yet, she missed him. Him, of all people! He, who always provoked her and argued with her, who always looked at her with that intense gaze, who always showed up when she least expected it, who always made her feel—I really need to stop, Margaret suddenly thought with exasperation. She realised that she had no idea what piece was being played. This is really beyond the pale. Looking at the program in her hand and mentally admonishing herself, she firmly turned her attention to the music.

The rest of the hour passed by quickly. When the performance was over, all three along with Mr Webster moved to the entrance and collected their cloaks and shawls. As they waited for the carriage, they talked about the performance, but only Fanny and Mr Webster showed any real enthusiasm. Margaret, despite her resolve to pay attention to the performance, had failed rather miserably. She had not noticed half of the things that Fanny was talking about. Drat the man, Margaret thought again not caring that she was being quite unfair. Right now, she just wanted to get home and be in her bed and let sleep claim her. She was exhausted with her own runaway thoughts and the effort it took to keep them in check.

But all her hopes were dashed—or fulfilled, Margaret wasn't sure which—when Ann Latimer suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, look! Mr Thornton is here!"

Drat the man, indeed!


	11. Chapter 11

The manufacturer's meeting had ended much earlier than Thornton expected. All the mill owners had unanimously agreed to reject the worker's demands. Last week, they had all received a notice sent by the worker's union which contained a list of their demands. Most of the items in the list were already known to the owners. All that remained was for them to take a formal decision and communicate it to the union.

Thornton had presided over the meeting and read out the list. They all agreed that the demands were preposterous and had been made at the worst possible time. They had no option but to refuse them. But unlike the previous times, the workers were quite determined under the leadership of Nicholas Higgins and his gang. The owners wanted to discuss ways to break the strike but Thornton already had a plan ready. He would wait two weeks and if the hands did not return to work, he would bring in the Irish workers. The other owners had thought that the move was rather unusual but if anyone could pull it off, John Thornton was the man.

The only sceptical man in the room was old Smithers. "I hope you are not seriously contemplating it, Thornton," Smithers had asked him when they were alone.

"I am perfectly serious."

"It could set them on the edge. I wouldn't advice it. But if you are determined to do it, on your own head be it," Smithers had said.

Thornton had mulled over it for a bit but he was not a man to have doubts. He was aware of the risks and he intended to take necessary precautions. In any case, once his mind was made up, it was made up.

But now with the meeting over, he realised that he had quite a bit of time on his hands. He could go home or he could go to the concert. He consulted his pocket watch and realised that by the time he would make it to the Hall, the concert would be over. But it wasn't the music that he cared about. He wanted to see Margaret and if it meant acting completely out of character, dashing halfway through the town, then so be it.

Thornton grabbed his overcoat and hastened outside. He walked quickly and in twenty minutes, he reached his destination.

He knew it was her the moment his eyes caught a lovely, slim figure clad in a cloak. She was facing away from him, but he could see her raise a gloved hand to brush away an errant curl. Nobody he knew moved her hands as elegantly as Margaret. He had memorised the way she poured tea, the way she pushed back the bracelet that kept falling to her wrist, the way she turned the pages of her book and the way she covered her mouth with the back of her hand when she yawned.

Margaret was standing with Fanny and Andrew and one of Fanny's friends—Ann Latimer, was that her name? He wasn't sure. Margaret still had her back to him. Thornton was mentally preparing what he would say to explain his unexpected appearance, especially to Fanny who would no doubt wonder aloud about it, but all his thoughts were halted when Fanny's friend shrieked:

"Oh, look! Mr Thornton is here!"

Three heads turned towards him, wearing an identical look of surprise.

"John, what are you doing here?" Fanny asked coming forward.

"Escorting you home," Thornton said.

For once, Fanny was utterly speechless and Thornton took advantage of that to walk past her and greet the others.

"How lovely to see you, Mr Thornton," Ann said and thrust her hand at him. Thornton took the proffered hand and gave it a quick kiss.

Margaret simply nodded, "Mr Thornton."

Andrew shook his hand and asked, "So is it decided then?"

"Yes," Thornton said. Seeing the look of confusion on Margaret's face, Thornton explained, "The strike. You will see Milton without smoke in a few days, Miss Hale."

"I would rather see Milton without suffering," Margaret said quietly.

"Surely you don't sympathise with the hands, Miss Hale," Ann asked with a disapproving look on her face. "I wish the Masters would teach the hands a good lesson this time. They are a lazy, ungrateful pack."

"And you speak about them from personal experience?" Margaret had just about enough of Ann Latimer.

"Me? Personal experience? Why would I—" Ann tried to laugh it off.

"I didn't think so," Margaret said cutting her off.

"And do you speak about them from personal experience?" Ann asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Actually, I do. Perhaps, you can accompany me to the mill during the lunch break or take a stroll through Princeton," Margaret suggested with a deadpan face.

Ann was stunned into silence. Andrew looked like he was choking back his laugher. And Thornton, even though he absolutely disapproved of Margaret wandering around the Princeton district, couldn't help a little smile.

"I should like to come with you to Princeton," Fanny said eagerly.

"You will do no such thing," Thornton said sharply to Fanny.

"But Margaret has been there plenty of times. I am sure it is perfectly safe," Fanny said looking at Margaret for support.

"Safe?" Thornton turned towards Margaret.

"Yes, it is," Margaret knew it wasn't _perfectly_ safe but Mr Thornton's overbearing manner was simply too much and she couldn't help but cross him.

"See! I don't see why I can't accompany Margaret," Fanny said triumphantly.

"Fanny, I forbid it," Thornton said.

"That's not fair. Margaret gets to go but I don't," Fanny sulked.

"It's for your own safety," Thornton pointed out.

"Then stop her as well," Fanny cried out.

"Fanny," Thornton warned in a low voice, his patience growing thin.

"Oh, I've got it," Fanny brightened suddenly, ignoring Thornton's darkening mood. "You can come with us. You will have the entire day to yourself when the workers go on strike. We'll certainly be safe with you."

Andrew cleared his throat. "I am not sure it will be safe for him to be seen anywhere near Princeton during the strike."

"Exactly, but if Miss Hale is so keen on visiting then perhaps you can accompany her," Ann said smiling encouragingly at Andrew.

"No one is going anywhere," Thornton said with enough warning in his voice to signal the end of the conversation.

"Even Mr Webster? You cannot forbid him. He can go and do as he plea—" Fanny stopped when she realised that she should have stopped speaking a minute ago. John looked ready to explode. She gulped.

"The carriage is here!" Andrew said to Fanny's and everyone's relief.

"About time!" Thornton said with great feeling.

It was Ann's carriage. Ann didn't want to leave Mr Thornton alone with Margaret. She had noticed how Mr Thornton had looked admiringly at Margaret. And she was still smarting from Margaret's put-down. She would pay Margaret back in good time but the blasted carriage was here and there was no excuse that she could make to stay back. She made her farewells.

"Mr Webster," she nodded at him. "Miss Hale," she said tightly.

She gave a dainty little hug to Fanny. "Good night, Fanny. I will visit tomorrow," she said and then allowed Thornton to help her into the carriage.

"Good night, Mr Thornton," she said huskily.

"Good night, Miss—" Thornton paused for a millisecond, "—Latimer" he said hoping to God that that was her name.

Ann pretended to not notice it and gave him a charming smile. She was rewarded for her tact with a grateful smile.

You certainly catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Ann thought to herself. Margaret had a sharp tongue and Ann knew that men did not like such women, no matter how beautiful. Ann settled comfortably in her carriage and congratulated herself on finally making an impression on Mr Thornton.

A moment later, Thornton's carriage rolled out. Thornton helped Fanny and Margaret climb in.

"Won't you come along with us," Fanny asked Andrew.

"It's a fine night. I prefer to walk. Good night, Miss Thornton," he bowed smartly.

"I hope we meet again soon" Andrew said with a warm smile to Margaret and after a nod to Thornton, he was off.

Margaret sat opposite Fanny and Mr Thornton. Fanny was uncharacteristically quiet, but with good reason. Margaret felt guilty about encouraging Fanny. She wondered if Mr Thornton thought her a bad influence on his sister. She had wanted to see the brother and sister together, but it was clear that Mr Thornton acted more like a father than a brother. If Fred had ever tried that tone with her, she would have boxed his ears. But Fred was only four years older than her, while Mr Thornton must be almost ten years Fanny's senior. Still, Fanny clearly needed a brother, someone who would tease her, guide her and dote on her. Even now, she was looking nervously at Mr Thornton.

"Did you enjoy the concert, Miss Hale?" Mr Thornton inquired.

"Yes, very much. Although, I think it is Fanny who has a greater appreciation of music," Margaret said, attempting to reconcile the brother and sister.

"There is another concert planned next month. You'll come, won't you?" Fanny asked Margaret.

"Of course," Margaret said and then, "Mr Thornton, won't you accompany Fanny?"

"When is it?" Thornton asked Fanny.

"They haven't yet announced the date, but it will be next month," Fanny said looking hopefully at her brother.

"I can't promise but I shall try," Thornton said. Who knew if the strike will be over by then. Nothing was certain at the moment.

"Did you really come to take me home tonight? Wasn't Mama waiting for you?" Fanny asked.

"The meeting ended earlier than expected," Thornton wasn't going to lie to Fanny about his real reason but at least that much was true.

"I am happy you came, although I am sure you regret it now," Fanny said contritely, hoping very much that John would contradict her.

"You want me to say that that is not true, isn't it?" Thornton saw right through her. "Even though you argued with me in public?"

"I wasn't that bad."

"You were exactly that bad."

"That's because you are too bossy."

"You are doing it again."

"Humph" Fanny sat back crossing her arms. Margaret stifled a giggle. That earned her a look from Fanny.

"It's because you don't have a brother," Fanny said to Margaret.

"I—" Margaret opened her mouth to tell her that's not true but immediately fell silent.

Thornton noticed that and wondered what she was about to say. It was unlike Margaret to hold back her thoughts. But before he could ask her, the carriage came to a stop.

Thornton stepped down first to help Margaret out. He was seized by a sudden desire to kiss her hand as he bid her good night. When Margaret tried to remove her hand from his after stepping down, she was surprised to find that he refused to let go.

"Good night, Miss Hale," he said and planted a firm kiss on her hand.

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Good night, Mr Thornton," Margaret barely got out the words.

Thornton reluctantly released her hand and watched her as she quickly climbed the steps and after a final look at him, closed the door.

Once inside, Margaret stood with her back pressed against the door. She heard the carriage leave. She didn't realise that she had been holding her breath. Margaret looked at her hand as if she expected it to catch fire. It wasn't as if no one had ever kissed her hand and it wasn't as if her hand had been bare, she had been wearing a glove. But his kiss had burned right through the fabric. The kiss was a good deal more than what was considered appropriate. Even Henry had not tried such a thing and he had been quite persistent even after she rejected him. Margaret wondered what would it be like to have Mr Thornton as a suitor.

And with that thought, any hope that Margaret had about a good night's sleep flew right out of the window.


	12. Chapter 12

Hannah Thornton was not very pleased when she found that John had decided to go to the Hall instead of coming home from the meeting. She knew that it was Miss Hale that John had gone to see. Hannah didn't have any particular objections to Miss Hale, but it vexed her no end that even at a time like this, with the strike almost upon them, John paid so much attention to the girl.

She looked at her son who was sitting quietly by the fire, sipping his nightly brandy.

Thornton was reliving the evening and wondering if he had been too forward with Margaret with that kiss. He knew that a gentleman would not have acted in such a manner, but he had been powerless against the overwhelming urge. She hadn't flinched or resisted; she had looked surprised and blushed. Did she realise how deeply and strongly he felt for her? She occupied his every single waking thought, his very dream. It was a wonder he got any work done at all. He would count the hours till it was time for his evening visit to Mr Hale. And each time she looked lovelier than he remembered. Thornton had never been in love and now that he was, he surrendered himself to it fully. He felt young and gloriously happy.

"John, do you care for Miss Hale?" Hannah asked without much of a preamble.

Thornton wasn't terribly surprised. He knew that it was a mere matter of time before his mother guessed at his feelings but he didn't think it would be so soon. She hadn't even seen him with Miss Hale—well, he supposed mothers always divined such matters.

"Yes," he answered.

"And does she return your regard?"

"I don't know," he said quietly.

The truth was that he wanted to win her over, he wanted to woo her. But it was not going to be an easy task. Their conversations were always a few words away from a disagreement—Margaret had firm opinions about things, her loyalty was to the workers and she had a temper that matched his own. Although these past few days, they had settled into a tentative friendship of sorts, mostly mediated by her father whose presence kept both their tempers in check, the fact remained that it was Margaret. And she was no ordinary girl. She was beautiful and bewitching; she was like quicksilver. She took all of his attention and energy. He had never known anyone like her—would never meet anyone like her.

"She is a sensible girl, I don't see why she wouldn't," Hannah said smugly.

Thornton didn't want Margaret to accept him because it was the sensible thing to do. He wanted her to accept him because she loved him, because she burned for him just as he burned for her. Anything less would devastate him.

"If she doesn't, then she is a fool," Hannah continued.

Thornton rose from his chair and dropped a kiss on his mother's head. He looked down at what his mother was writing. It was invitations to the annual dinner.

"Do you think we should cancel it?" Hannah asked.

"We'll have the dinner same as last year. Nothing will change," he said.

"When do you think they will strike?" Hannah asked.

"In a day. Two."

"Or maybe they will come to their senses," Hannah snorted.

Thornton doubted that would happen. And he was right.

The union had expected the Masters to reject their demands. Higgins called a meeting of all the workers the next night. Their decision was easily made. The strike will begin tomorrow. If any of the Masters agreed to raise the wages, the workers must report it to the union but they must not accept it. This strike was for all the workers in Milton and against all the Masters. There should be no violence, no damage to any of the machines. The Masters need to understand that this time they were dealing with thinking men not mindless hordes.

The next evening, at ten minutes to four, Thornton heard the looms fall silent one by one. He stepped out of his office and saw the workers walk out quietly but defiantly.

It has begun, Thornton thought grimly.

* * *

Milton was indeed without smoke, Margaret noted. But it had also become very quiet. It was as if the city was patiently waiting for a resolution. Margaret went to meet Bessie. She had hoped to see Nicholas but was surprised to find that he was not at home but at the alehouse.

"To calm them down. Help them keep their heads," Bessie explained. "Few men can stand by and watch their children starve."

Both Nicholas and Mr Thornton had told her that Milton men were too proud to accept charity but these were desperate times and Margaret was determined to help in whatever way she could. She started taking baskets to the poorest districts in Milton.

One day, as she was returning from one such trip, she ran into Mr Thornton. He noticed right away where she had been. She was carrying an empty basket and the hem of her skirts were soiled.

"Is there anything I can say to stop you, Miss Hale," he asked.

"I am afraid not," she said firmly.

Thornton knew better than to argue with her. He made way for her so that she could continue walking and then fell in step with her. Margaret was surprised at that. He had been heading in the opposite direction. They walked in silence for a few minutes.

"Mr Thornton, weren't you going to the market?" she had to ask.

"I was but it is a small errand. It can wait," he said. "I am sorry I should have asked you before accompanying you. I hope you do not mind."

"It's alright. Fanny was right, you certainly have a lot of time on your hands," Margaret smiled.

"Yes, I don't know what to do with myself," Thornton admitted. "What do you suggest?"

Margaret was taken aback by the question. She had no idea what Mr Thornton might like. She said the only thing that occurred to her.

"You could accompany Fanny. She was talking about visiting the book store. I am sure she would love to go with you."

"I suppose I could do that. But can you assure me that she will not try to drag me into another hare-brained adventure?"

"Mr Thornton, I shall not have you talk unkindly about my friend," Margaret said gathering her brows in a stern expression.

Mr Thornton had never been teased by Margaret before and he found that he enjoyed it immensely. She looked so utterly endearing trying to suppress the smile that was forming on her lips.

"I shall inform Fanny of your spirited defense," he said.

"But then you will have to tell her what occasioned it."

"I don't imagine she will be surprised."

"But she will be disappointed. Surely, you can see that she desires your good opinion."

"My good opinion?" Thornton looked surprised. "I don't believe she cares about what I think. She does as she pleases. We have been far too indulgent with her."

Margaret couldn't believe that Mr Thornton did not see what was so obvious to her, an outsider.

"Mr Thornton, I cannot agree with you. I admit I have not had many occasions to observe you and Fanny together but I do believe she wishes that you would treat her as a sister, as an equal instead of as a child."

Thornton slowed down and looked at Margaret, taking in the meaning of her words. He then bowed his head and continued walking, lost in thought. Margaret wondered if she had overstepped her bounds.

"I am sorry if I have upset you. It was not my intention to imply that you were a—"

"No, Miss Hale," Thornton said quickly. "I am glad you spoke freely. I admit I haven't been the best of brothers. I… I haven't had the time. When our father passed away I was in university. I had just started it, actually. He had left behind an enormous debt. I had to become the head of the family as well as I could in a few days. Fanny was a little girl and I wasn't sure what comfort I could offer her other than making sure that she never lacked anything. All my energies in those dark years were devoted to paying back the creditors and restoring our family finances. But now that we are secured and she is grown up, I didn't think that she still needed a brother."

During this remarkable speech, Margaret hadn't removed her eyes from Mr Thornton's face. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. He spoke so simply about his struggles, about his younger years. It must not have been easy for him to tell her. Feeling her gaze on him, Thornton looked at her.

"I have made you uncomfortable with my history," he said.

"No," she replied quickly and then more forcefully, "No. I think you are a remarkable man."

His heart thrilled at her words, at the praise that she gave so freely and honestly. His face broke into a deliciously happy and boyish smile.

"You should smile more often, it really suits you," Margaret said before she had a chance to realise that it was probably too forward and very likely to be misconstrued. Margaret looked away and started walking at an increased pace. Thornton understood at once why she looked flustered and not wishing to embarrass her by dwelling on the subject, silently walked beside her.

They fell into companionable silence for the rest of the walk. Later that evening, Margaret narrated what Thornton had told her to her father. But Mr Hale already knew the story.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Margaret asked.

"I didn't want to supply you more reasons for your prejudice against the man. But if I had known you would be so admiring, I would have told you sooner."

Margaret sputtered at the first part and blushed at the latter.

"So, he is complaining about having too much time on his hands," Mr Hale rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Margaret eyed her father suspiciously. Margaret wondered what made her father smile in that mischievous way of his. As it turned out, she didn't have to wait long to find out. Two days later, when Mr Thornton showed up an hour earlier than his usual time, her father came down from his room, all dressed to go out.

"Papa, where are you going? Mr Thornton is here."

"I know. John is taking me to his gentlemen's club."

Margaret could do nothing but stare at her father for a full minute as he adjusted his scarf in front of the mirror in the hall.

"Gentlemen's club?"

"Yes."

"You are going to a gentlemen's club?"

"Yes."

"You have never been to a gentlemen's club!"

"I have."

"Where?"

"In Oxford."

"That must have been ages ago."

"Precisely. It's been ages."

"What will you do there?"

"The usual—smoke, drink, talk."

"You don't smoke. Or drink."

"I used to—"

Margaret let her jaw fall in a most unladylike manner.

"—ages ago," Mr Hale finished. Margaret clamped her mouth shut.

"Whose idea was it?" Margaret asked.

"Mine," her father replied. "Don't look so disapproving, Maggie. Don't I deserve a night out?" her father appealed.

Thornton watched this entire exchange with a great deal of consternation. He had never heard of a father requiring his daughter's permission to do anything. But it seemed that's exactly what Mr Hale was doing. For a moment, Thornton felt jealous of the charming domestic scene. It seemed that such conversations were a regular feature of the Hales household. He wondered if his own family would have been different had his father been alive.

"Of course, father," Margaret finally softened. "But do you think it's a good idea? You still have the cold."

"Just a trifle."

Her father looked so excited and happy that Margaret gave in with a sigh.

"You'll need a warmer scarf. I will get it."

"No, no, stay here. I know where I've kept it," with that her father went back upstairs.

"He will be alright," Thornton assured her. "I will see him home."

"How long will you be there?" Margaret asked.

"A couple of hours. Maybe more. It depends."

"This is so unlike him. I don't know what to think," Margaret confessed.

"Do you think I am a bad influence on your father?" Thornton couldn't resist.

"It depends. Do you think I am a bad influence on your sister?" Margaret asked with a smile.

"Touché, Miss Hale," Thornton returned her smile.

Mr Hale returned wearing a different scarf and after fussing over him and retying the scarf to her satisfaction and helping him into his coat, Margaret kissed him good bye. She stood watching as her father and Mr Thornton walked away. They made such an odd pair. Mr Thornton was such an imposing figure with his broad shoulders and the fashionable hat that he was wearing, while her father looked even more frail and old next to him.

Margaret went to her room and brought her sketchbook and pencils to the study. She started drawing her father and Mr Thornton as they had looked together.

A couple of hours later, Margaret was roused from her work by a knock on the door. As promised, Mr Thornton had delivered her father back to her. Her father looked quite red. Margaret wasn't sure whether it was from excitement or exertion.

"Papa, are you alright?" Margaret asked, letting the two men inside.

"I am a bit tired, that's all. But I had a wonderful evening, thanks to my young friend here."

"Mr Hale, I think you should rest now," Mr Thornton said.

"Yes. Well, good night and thanks again."

"The pleasure was all mine. Good night, Mr Hale," Thornton said, shaking Mr Hale's hand.

Thornton had just stepped outside the door, when Mr Hale suddenly stopped halfway up the stairs. "John, I forgot the books. Let me bring them down," he said turning around.

"What books?" Margaret asked.

"John complained about having not much to do during the day, so I promised to give him some books to read," her father explained.

"You can give them to me tomorrow. Please do not trouble yourself over them," Thornton said.

"It will hardly take a minute. I insist," Mr Hale started climbing up the stairs.

"Papa, let me bring it. You need not run up and down. Mr Thornton, will you please wait for a minute?" At his nod, Margaret looped her hand through her father's and helped him up the stairs.

Thornton closed the main door. A small fire was burning in the study and the room looked warm and inviting. Thornton went to stand near the fire but as he made his way toward the fireplace, he noticed an open sketchbook lying on one the chairs. Curious, he went to examine the drawing.

It was a picture of two men walking. They were walking away from the viewer but there was no mistaking who the two men were. Thornton marvelled at the skill with which Margaret had captured the scene. While he had been drawn with firm, sure lines and a liberal use of charcoal to highlight the dark coat and hat, her father had been drawn with a gentle hand, the pressure of the pencil on the paper at places too faint. The effect was startling—light and dark, youth and age.

Thornton picked up the sketchbook and turned the pages. Thornton could scarcely believe what he was looking at. It was a picture of him. He had a book in his hand and he was reading from it. Thornton knew that was how he must have looked as he sat with Mr Hale. He turned another page. He sucked in his breath. It was him again but this time, it was just his face. He was smiling in this picture. He turned another page and then another. It was full of pictures of him. On the margins, she had practiced individual features—the shape of his eyes, his nose and his lips. She had shaded the pictures carefully to bring out the contours of his face, the play of light and shadow. Margaret had been secretly observing and drawing him! Thornton knew that he was considered handsome but he had never allowed himself to believe that a creature as bewitching as Margaret would find him handsome and certainly not compelling enough to capture on paper. He looked at the picture and imagined her running a delicate finger over his face, over his lips to even out the shading. His heart sped up at the thought.

His trance was broken by the sound of her feet on the stairs. He put down the sketchbook and stood by the fire.

"Here are the books," Margaret held them out as she entered the study. Mr Thornton didn't immediately turn towards her, his eyes were fixed on the embers.

She took a few steps towards him. "Mr Thornton?"

When he finally turned, there was a strange gleam in his eyes. An intensity that knocked the air out of her body. The room suddenly felt very small and very hot.

"Mr Thornton," she said again, half-whisper, half-question.

Thornton walked towards her and though God knew that Margaret Hale did not have one cowardly bone in her body, she involuntarily took a step back. Thornton didn't once take his eyes off her. He stopped in front of her. Not too close but it didn't matter. She could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was looking at her as though he was searching her face for something. She felt the blood rush to her face.

"The books," she said weakly. She held out the books creating some sort of barrier between them.

He took the books from her hand without his eyes leaving her face.

"Miss Hale," he said as if he was about to ask a question but then thought the better of it. Margaret didn't know what to expect. Why was he looking at her like that? What was he going to do?

"Good night," he said decisively and left the room.

Margaret was dimly aware of the front door opening and closing and a gust of cold wind entering the house.

What in God's name had just happened, she wondered.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**: _Thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement. Thank you so much for following this little story._

_When I started writing it, I was afraid that it is so different in tone from the novel as well as the TV series that it will likely not meet with your approval. Plus I have taken quite a few liberties with the main characters - Thornton doesn't suffer from an inferiority complex with regard to Margaret and Margaret is far more daring and self-aware. I imagine I will broadly stick to the major milestones in the novel, but I will invent the journey._

_Thank you once again! I love you guys!_

_Hope you enjoy this new chapter :)_

* * *

Thornton let the cold, biting wind bring him back to his senses.

He had always prided himself on his self-control, but tonight he had felt it slip away like water through his hands. The knowledge that she had spent hours studying his face, that she had drawn him again and again, that she might care for him had nearly undone him.

It took every ounce of his will power to not touch her. To maintain the appropriate distance. He didn't even remember what he had meant to ask her. All he saw was her and how her lips were parted in surprise and confusion, how her breathing was laboured, how she took his name in a breathless whisper. He had to leave. One moment more and he would have pulled her into his arms, would have done what he had been dreaming of doing ever since he met her. He _had_ to leave.

Even now with the cold wind stinging his face, he shuddered at the intensity of the moment.

Slowly, gradually, with every step that he took, he regained his power of reason. Young unmarried women did not draw men they were not attached to—which is why she had had never asked him for a sitting. But even if she had drawn him in secret, her manner towards him has always been very proper (indignant outbursts notwithstanding). She had never given him any encouragement. She treated him as any young lady would treat her father's friend. Occasionally, she had spoken to him as a friend, but nothing more. It was he who had made all the advances; any improper conduct had been his doing.

Thornton raked his fingers through his hair. Was he jumping to the wrong conclusion? Was he ascribing deeper meaning and feelings to a few drawings? He wished he could ask her, maybe that was what he meant to ask her before his rational senses took leave of him. That reminded him: He could not allow what happened today to happen again—that is, until he had any positive proof of her feelings. God knew how difficult it had been tonight. He had no idea what Margaret might make of his strange behaviour this evening.

Thornton felt like a young child who had stumbled across a delightful secret. He remembered how as a young boy his governess, Miss Hunter, had promised him a sweetened candy for every sum he solved correctly. One day, he had discovered the little bag in which she used to hide the sweets—from him as well as his mother, who disapproved of any bribe. Even then, he had known that pocketing all the candies would not be a good idea. So every day, he would try to solve as many sums as he could and in addition to the well-earned candies which a pleasantly surprised Miss Hunter gave him, he would later quietly take out a few more without anyone being the wiser. That was such a long time ago, but he supposed he hadn't changed all that much.

Thornton decided to not bring up the drawing with Margaret; truth be told, he simply could not. And not just because a gentleman would never do it but because it was Margaret's secret and he couldn't bring himself to use his knowledge of her secret to press his suit. This knowledge was its own reward. It was precious because it gave him hope. He now knew that Margaret was not entirely indifferent to him.

Before tonight, he had not really know what she felt about him. But this serendipitous discovery has given him the courage to proceed with confidence.

Thornton's courage would have increased a thousand-fold if he had known that the object of his fervent hope and desire was tossing and turning in her bed thinking about him. Margaret did not like that Mr Thornton could unsettle her like that. Margaret liked to be in command of the situation; at the very least, she liked to be in command of herself. Tonight, when he had looked at her like that, it was so new, so unprecedented that she didn't know what to do or make of it. None of the young gentlemen had ever looked at her the way Mr Thornton had. She knew that it was not proper. She knew she should be outraged at his boldness—except that she had felt no outrage. Instead, she found herself trembling with anticipation, waiting to see what he would do. And then he had left. Just like that! That he could simply walk away as though it was nothing, while she herself had been aflame was mortifying beyond words.

Just when she had started to think that she might be friends with Mr Thornton, he had to go ahead and do something that made the very idea of a friendship with him seem ridiculous. How could she be friends with him when he made her so unsure of herself? Margaret desperately wished she had someone she could talk to. Now, more than ever, she missed the old Edith. Margaret and Edith had been very close; they had giggled, joked and discussed their little army of suitors. But all that had changed when Edith married Captain Lennox. Since then, Edith had made it her mission in life to see Margaret and Henry together. She could not talk about Mr Thornton with Edith. Besides, what would she say—that Mr Thornton annoyed and puzzled her in equal measure; that he made her feel and act so unlike herself. Margaret feared that Edith, on the slightest suspicion of another man in Margaret's acquaintance, would herself come down to Milton. Or, Heaven forbid, send Henry to Milton to sniff out any possible competition. No, she could not talk to Edith.

Margaret fell into a restless, fitful sleep. A couple of hours before dawn, her mind finally relaxed and she drifted off to a deep, peacefully slumber. When Margaret woke up the next morning, she felt surprisingly refreshed and more herself.

I must see Bessie, was Margaret's first thought upon waking up. And so after seeing to the household and giving instructions, she hurried off to Princeton.

"Goodness, did you run all the way?" Bessie asked astonished.

"No, why would I?" Margaret said out of breath as she removed her bonnet and shawl.

Bessie raised an eyebrow. She poured out a cup of tea and pushed it in Margaret's direction.

"Just what I need," Margaret took a big gulp and smiled.

Bessie watched her from the rim of her cup. "What are you smiling about?"

Margaret immediately stopped smiling.

"I wasn't."

Bessie fixed her with a look.

"Where are the children?" Margaret asked.

"With father. He has taken them on a walk. Father has more time than he knows what to do with."

"Mr Thornton complained about the same thing," Margaret said eagerly, glad for any excuse to talk about Mr Thornton.

"Now is the time for all the young Misses to set their caps for him. He will be glad for the distraction," Bessie said taking a leisurely sip.

Margaret kept her eyes focused on the cup.

"He is considered quite the eligible bachelor—sought after by all the young women."

"Surely not all," Margaret bit out.

Bessie shrugged. "The young spinners like him better than all the other Masters."

Margaret choked on her tea. Bessie smiled nonchalantly.

"Can we not talk about Mr Thornton?" Margaret asked.

"Well, you shouldn't have talked about him if you didn't want to talk about him."

Margaret gave Bessie an annoyed look. God, she is worse than Edith.

"Where is Mr Woof?"

"You didn't think the children would leave him behind," Bessie asked. Then, after a pause she added, "The young spinners like Mr Woof better than even Mr Thornton."

"Well, Mr Woof is a great deal more agreeable," Margaret said.

"And better looking," Bessie pointed out.

"And better behaved," Margaret added.

The two friends looked at each other and burst out laughing.

An hour later, Margaret made her way back home. The visit had done both of them a great deal of good. They chatted about this and that, insignificant silly things, as if they didn't have a care in this world.

As Margaret passed through the market, she remembered that she had to buy new curtains. The ones that they had were delicate and light and better suited for Helstone where the air was clean. Margaret feared that the curtains would not be able to withstand another vigorous wash; they will be quite shredded. No use putting it off, and so with a light skip in her step, Margaret headed off to the local draper.

Thornton, on the other hand, was dragging his feet. Literally. He was having a not so successful day. He had decided to take Margaret's advice and accompany Fanny to the book store. He had hoped that Fanny might decide to ask Margaret along. Instead, Fanny told him that they will meet Miss Latimer. It was too late to turn back and Thornton didn't have the heart to disappoint Fanny.

At the book store, Miss Latimer proceeded to question Thornton about the kind of books that he liked to read (philosophy, he replied dryly), told him that she found the Gothic novels quite terrifying (isn't that the idea, he quipped), and urged Fanny to reconsider her decision to buy Mr Collins' _Hide and Seek_. Thornton had no doubt that all of this was being done to impress him; Miss Latimer was no more subtle than her father. He asked Fanny what the Collins book was all about and when she told him that it is a mystery, he gave her his approval. He might read it himself, if it turned out to be any good.

As they stepped out of the book store, Thornton spotted Margaret entering a draper's shop. Suddenly, the day started looking up. Before he knew what he was doing, Thornton had crossed the street and was heading in the direction of the shop, with a confused Fanny and Miss Latimer in tow.

"Did you want to buy something, Mr Thornton?" Ann asked.

Fanny, who was looking inside the shop, exclaimed "Margaret! I think that's her," and entered the shop.

Ann Latimer ground her teeth and followed Fanny along with Mr Thornton.

Upon hearing her name, Margaret turned around and saw Fanny and behind her Miss Latimer with her hands around Mr Thornton's arm. She turned her attention back to Fanny.

"Fanny, what are you doing here?" The draper's shop was a modest-sized establishment that kept furnishing and such articles. She had no idea why the Thorntons and Latimers would be here.

"We were passing by and saw you," Fanny looked around. "Now that we are here, I do need some handkerchiefs. What about you?"

"I am here to buy some curtains," Margaret said.

"Curtains!" Miss Latimer gave a disbelieving laugh. "Isn't there someone who can do that for you?"

Thornton immediately disengaged his arm from Miss Latimer's clutches. "I might be of some assistance," he said coming forward with a smile.

"John just needs an excuse to talk about cotton," Fanny rolled her eyes.

Ann looked at Fanny with ill-concealed contempt. How can the little fool not see that it was Margaret and not cotton that Mr Thornton was interested in. But it was for the better that she didn't see it. If Fanny realises that Mr Thornton is partial to Miss Hale, she would not rest until they were at the altar.

"Come on, Ann! Let's go before he bores us to tears," Fanny grabbed Ann and went to the other counter.

Left alone with Mr Thornton, Margaret suddenly found herself unable to look at him. The memory of last night came flooding back. She turned around and started inspecting the fabric. Thornton quietly stood by her side. A full minute passed.

"You have never purchased curtains before," Thornton said, not a question but a statement. She was looking at the different samples as though they were exhibits.

"No," Margaret said quietly. Funny how she had never thought about curtains her entire life, didn't have the first clue about them and now she had to buy them.

"Are you looking for curtains or over-drapes?" Thornton asked.

"Curtains. The ones we have are a rather delicate muslin; I am afraid they won't survive another round of washing," Margaret said.

Thornton motioned to the draper, who came to them immediately.

"Show us some muslin and cotton lace," Thornton said taking charge of the situation.

Us. One would think they were a married couple buying furnishing for their home, Margaret thought. From the other counter, Ann was looking dagger at them.

The draper quickly returned with an armful of rolls. He spread them out on the counter.

"These look like the ones we have," Margaret pointed at the figured muslin. Margaret turned her attention to the other samples. They were quite beautiful and quite different.

"This is lace," she remarked.

"Nottingham lace," Thornton said.

"From Nottingham?" Margaret asked astonished.

"No, the name comes from the looms they are woven on," Thornton explained.

"The needle work is so precise and fine. I don't think I have seen anything like this," she said, inspecting it closely.

"It is machine-woven, that's why. Allows for far greater precision and control," Thornton said before the draper had the chance to answer. He took the fabric between his fingers to test it. He gave an approving nod to the draper.

"14 point?" Thornton asked.

"Yes, that's right, Mr Thornton."

When Margaret looked at him inquiringly, Thornton explained "Points indicate how many vertical threads every inch are worked on the weft of the loom. Nottingham comes in 8, 10, 12 and 14 points. The higher the point, the more delicate the lace, the more capable it is of showing detailed patterns."

Since Mr Thornton was doing such an excellent job of explaining all the details, the draper happily held up the samples one by one so that Margaret could see the patterns and make a decision.

Margaret looked at each pattern, her face slightly scrunched up. Thornton stood aside and watched Margaret as she made her decision. Suddenly, her face lit up.

"This one!" she said. It was a 10-point design that featured roses. It was quite simple, yet striking with distinct areas of opaque figures and open latticework.

"Ah, the Highland Rose! Excellent choice," the draper gushed. "But perhaps, you would like to see the remaining patterns as well. Maybe you will like something even better."

"No, thank you. This one is perfect," Margaret said.

"Very well then, Madam," the draper assented.

"You like roses," Thornton asked.

"Yes. They remind me of Helstone," Margaret smiled. "We had the most beautiful roses in our garden."

The draper coughed to draw Margaret's attention. While Margaret told the draper the panel size and the number of curtains that she needed, Fanny returned with a large packet.

"Handkerchiefs for a lifetime?" Thornton inquired.

"I bought some for mama and you as well," Fanny said.

Duly chastened, Thornton gave Fanny an apologetic and affectionate smile. "I am sorry and thank you," he said and took the packet from Fanny.

Margaret returned after giving her address to the draper.

"We have been to the book store," Fanny told Margaret. "I got Mr Wilkins Collins' new book. For a moment, I was afraid that John was going to "forbid"."

Margaret looked at Thornton in surprise.

Reading her expression, Fanny said, "Exactly! I always thought John was a stick in the mud but he—!" Fanny immediately covered her mouth with her hand.

"I am glad you think better of me now," Thornton said blandly to his sister.

"Miss Hale, I trust you to not tell your father about it; I wouldn't like to disappoint him." Mr Thornton was giving her a—was she seeing things—a quiet mischievous smile! A smile that made it possible for her to imagine how he must have looked as a young boy.

Margaret swallowed, but no intelligent reply came forth. Even Fanny was stunned at her brother's good humour.

"Shall we be off?" Ann said, eager to end the scene and be rid of Margaret. Margaret looked at Ann who had once again claimed Mr Thornton's arm. She remembered Bessie's words about Mr Thornton being sought after by all the girls. This one was practically throwing herself at him. Margaret decided that she hated Ann Latimer even more, if that was possible.

"Well, I must be off. Thank you for helping me out, Mr Thornton. And educating me," Margaret said with a grateful smile.

"We'll see you tomorrow at the dinner. I convinced mama to arrange for musicians, so there will be some dancing," Fanny beamed. "Nothing very formal but it will be great fun!"

Thornton knew that his mother did not want to spend money on frivolous entertainment, even though he had told her to not worry about the expense. He had been there when Fanny "convinced" their mother. It's terrifying what Fanny can accomplish once she set her mind to it. She is a Thornton after all.

Ann's eyes were narrowed in anger. How had Margaret managed to get an invitation to the Thornton dinner party? Since when did Mrs Thornton start inviting renegade clergymen and their family to her dinner parties? She will have to speak to her father and move in soon before this upstart snagged Mr Thornton!


	14. Chapter 14

"Papa, are you not surprised that the Thorntons are having a party? Especially, with the strike going on?" Margaret asked her father as they walked to the dinner party.

"Well, the Thorntons give their annual dinner same day every year; that's what I have heard. Apparently, it is the big event in Milton," her father said.

Margaret smiled but it didn't feel right to her that the Masters should be having a grand time while the workers and their children were starving. The strike was the big event.

"Come now, Margaret. Try to enjoy the evening, I am sure things will turn out fine," he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

It certainly was a big event. The street outside the house was illuminated by the light coming from the windows. When Margaret entered the house, she was surprised at how different it looked. Gone was the Spartan appearance; every corner was full of flowers; candles burned brightly; and the chandeliers were lit. A few strings of music could be heard amid the clinking of glasses. Most of the guests had already arrived. Mrs Thornton saw them enter and came to greet them.

"Mr Hale, I am glad to finally meet you. John speaks very highly of you," Mrs Thornton shook Mr Hale's hand.

"Delighted to meet you, Mrs Thornton. Your son is a brilliant young man."

Mrs Thornton's face glowed with pride upon hearing her son praised.

"My daughter, Margaret" her father stood aside a bit to allow Margaret to come to the front.

"Mrs Thornton," Margaret nodded.

Mrs Thornton acknowledged her nod and gave her an assessing look. Margaret must have met with her approval, for Mrs Thornton gave her a smile. After chatting with her father for a bit, Mrs Thornton went to see to her other guests.

"Margaret!" Fanny came to greet her. "What a pretty gown! You must take me to your modiste if we ever go to London. Promise?"

"Promise! The rooms look spectacular."

"Mama had it all arranged. The dance will be held after dinner," Fanny told her. "Finally after years, we'll have even number of ladies and gentlemen. So don't even think about trying to make any excuses."

"I won't," Margaret promised. It was difficult to not get carried away by Fanny's enthusiasm.

"I think everyone is here," Fanny remarked.

Everyone except Mr Thornton. The party was in full swing and the guests, mostly mill owners and their wives and daughters, had formed small circles and were talking. Her father had also found himself someone to talk to. Mrs Thornton moved from one group to the other, playing the gracious hostess. Margaret knew that Mr Thornton was not the sort of man to make a fashionably late entrance at his own dinner party, so it must be something important that is keeping him away.

"Oh, Mr Webster has also finally come!" Fanny said.

Andrew Webster had just entered the room and after a quick scan, he headed straight towards Margaret and Fanny.

"Ladies," he bowed.

"Did John arrive with you?" Fanny asked.

"Yes, he should be here any minute," Andrew said.

"Thank goodness! I am tired of playing the hostess. I hope John gets here soon and does his duty," Fanny said in exasperation.

Ann Latimer suddenly materialised from nowhere. She was at her fashionable best and looked quite pretty with matching ribbons in her hair. She gave Margaret a cool stare. Upon realising that she was not going to earn the title of the most beautiful girl in the room if she stood next to Margaret, she turned her attention to Fanny.

"Fanny, Mrs Slickson was asking about you," Ann imparted and quickly wound her arm through Fanny's and took her away. Andrew looked at the two girls and slowly what this was all about started becoming clear to him. But the question was: was Ann discouraging his friendship with Fanny or was she encouraging his friendship with Miss Hale.

"Were you and Mr Thornton out?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Andrew said somewhat absently.

Margaret turned to look at him. Feeling her gaze, he turned to face her.

"Wool gathering," he said with an apologetic smile. "So has your opinion of Milton improved? Or are we still savages?"

"I never said that," Margaret said outraged, but she was smiling.

"I am quite sure you thought it."

When Margaret did not immediately respond, he laughed.

"Always the brutal truth, Miss Hale."

"Milton is sometimes very difficult to get used to," Margaret said with a shrug. She opened her mouth to say something more but stopped when she saw Mr Thornton finally make his entrance. He looked incredibly handsome and dapper. He was wearing a cream coloured brocade waistcoat and a black dinner jacket. His hair was slightly ruffled as though, he didn't have the time to brush them carefully. He immediately made his way to Mrs Thornton and the two chatted quietly for a moment. Then, he squared his shoulders and turned around and was soon smiling and greeting his guests.

Andrew turned his head to see what had caught Margaret's attention. Ah, he thought with a grin. On the night of the concert, he had caught Thornton stealing glances at Miss Hale, but Andrew hadn't paid much attention to it then. Miss Hale was, after all, very beautiful and Thornton was but a man. But this, this is certainly interesting.

Margaret saw that Mr Thornton was shaking hands with a young lady. She remembered how she had rebuffed him when he had offered to shake her hand. At that time, she had thought him extremely forward. Margaret regretted her rudeness. She wondered if it was alright for her to initiate a handshake.

"I don't think I fully understand Milton ways," she said, half to herself.

"Maybe, I can help you," Andrew offered.

"The handshake," Margaret said. "In London or Helstone, no gentleman would expect a lady to shake his hand. But here it is the normal way of greeting."

"I confess I was quite surprised by the custom myself but once I saw the—ahem—advantages, I got over my reservations very quickly," he said with a roguish smile.

"You are incorrigible!" Margaret swatted his arm playfully.

Andrew looked at Margaret with surprise. Margaret was looking at the rest of the party, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just acted in a rather familiar way with him. Suddenly, a thought came to him: she must have a brother. That had to be it. Miss Hale was such an easy person to talk to but more importantly, she was completely at ease talking to him. There had been a natural camaraderie between them—the sort that exists between siblings. Which was why he felt completely at ease making that remark about the handshake. He knew that Miss Hale will never mistake it for flirtation. But she had never mentioned a brother. Still, Andrew felt quite certain that there must be one, either a brother or a very close cousin brother. Maybe, she will tell him about it later. But in the meantime, he quickly looked around to see if anyone else had seen it and sure enough, he saw Fanny and Miss Latimer looking at them.

Fanny and Ann were not the only ones who were keeping an eye on Margaret and Andrew. Thornton found that he was scarcely able to focus on what Watson was saying. He heard snatches of their conversation and laughter with increasing irritation. He had been aware of Margaret the moment he had entered the room. He wasn't able to look at her properly but he knew that she was standing near the window with Andrew. He wanted to go straight to her but first, he had to tell his mother that he will be leaving the dinner party by eight. He and Andrew will have to go to the railway station to oversee the arrival of the Irish workers and quietly bring them to the mill. His contact in Liverpool had sent the workers a day early. Thornton had received the dispatch only this afternoon, forcing him and Andrew to quickly make all the final arrangements. They had just returned after meeting the police commissioner. They had asked for armed guards to be stationed at the railway station this evening. That was what had delayed them. He had been so eager to see her that he had dressed for the dinner in record time. But he had a duty as a host and he found himself getting pulled into conversations, unable to excuse himself without offending his guests.

Seeing Margaret laughing with Andrew had been enough to make Thornton regret taking him on. And he had taken on Andrew precisely for the reasons which were now annoying him. Andrew possessed the rare combination of being a natural businessman and a gentleman. Andrew was the youngest son of a country squire. His father had expected him to join the church but Andrew was not ready for it. After a quarrel with his father, Andrew had packed his bags, took the first train he saw at the station and had ended up in Milton. Someone must have mentioned Marlborough Mills to him upon his arrival, so Andrew had showed up at the mill and had somehow talked his way into Thornton's office. Once inside the office, he had tried convincing Thornton to take him on as an assistant. Thornton was about to grab him by the collar and throw him out when a quarrel broke out between two of the workers. Andrew jumped right into the fray and—Thornton still had no idea how he did it—within ten minutes had the two workers shaking hands. Thornton had hired him right then. His mother found Andrew too glib but Thornton recognised that behind that easy smile and debonair manner was a first-rate mind. Within weeks, Andrew had the customers eating out of his hands. Thornton had promoted him to manager and the two had formed a sort of friendship. But right now, Thornton wanted to strangle Andrew.

Thornton was jolted out of his dark mood when he heard the words "Miss Thornton" and "court". He tried to follow what Watson was saying. After a few moments, Thornton worked out that Watson was seeking his permission to court Fanny.

"Has my sister given you any promise?" Thornton asked.

"Yes. Well, no. That is, with encouragement she might," came the reply.

Thornton was surprised at the relief that washed over him. He did not like Watson. Watson was a cowardly sort of fellow, always up to some tricks or ill-dealings. But he was even more surprised at the thought that Fanny was now an eligible young lady and that he will soon be giving her away. He looked at Fanny. She was talking animatedly with Miss Latimer. Margaret was right, Fanny had grown up while he had been busy running the mill.

"I will give you my answer soon," Thornton said and walked away.

Thornton was finally about to go to Margaret when he was waylaid yet again. This time it was Mr Latimer.

"Mr Latimer, wonderful you could come," Thornton shook his hand.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. So, how are things with the strike? How's business?" Mr Latimer inquired.

"Things will be fine. We will ride out the strike just like last time," Thornton said.

"Well, these are tough times, but I always had complete faith in you. You are the only person I would give funds to without a question," Mr Latimer patted Thornton on the shoulder.

Thornton currently owed the banks about 400 pounds and while he knew that he will pull through, it didn't seem like a particularly wise time to point out to Mr Latimer that Thornton paid him much better interest than anyone and which is the only reason why Mr Latimer invested in him without a question. But the fact remained that Thornton did, and might, need Mr Latimer, so he held his tongue and waited for the rest of the speech.

"I am an old man, I have seen my days. Nothing gives me more happiness and satisfaction than investing in an honest, worthy young fellow. That's what I always tell my daughter. Oh, there she is," Mr Latimer said as Ann Latimer came to them. Thornton wondered if the entire speech had been rehearsed.

"You have met my daughter," the old man asked.

"Yes, I have had the pleasure," Thornton took her hand and bowed.

While Mr Latimer was singing Thornton's praises to his daughter, Perkins, one of the young lawyers, stood next to Thornton and whispered in his ears.

"Who is that young lady? By God, I have never seen her before. Will you introduce me?"

Thornton turned to look at who Perkins was talking about and found that it was Margaret. It was the first time that Thornton got a proper look at Margaret this evening and for a moment, he stood stunned. He had never seen her wear one of these fancy evening dresses. She was wearing a pale green satin dress that exposed her slender shoulders. She had done her hair a little differently. She was perfection and she was smiling at him.

Forgetting all about Perkins and the Latimers, Thornton walked straight to her. When he reached her, Margaret put out her hand. Thornton immediately took it. His pleasure written on his face.

"I am learning Milton ways, Mr Thornton," she said with a shy smile.

"I am glad," Thornton smiled at her. His hand was warm, his grip was firm and he was in no mood to relinquish her hand. Andrew wondered if they remembered that he was standing right next to them. Probably not.

"I say, isn't that Perkins. He looks rather put out. Let me see if I can cheer him," with that Andrew made himself scarce.

Margaret gently pulled out her hand from Mr Thornton's grasp.

"I hope you are having a good time," he asked.

"Yes, it is a lovely evening. Mr Webster is such a delightful companion," she said.

"Humm."

"I thought you didn't have too much to do these days," she remarked.

"Yes, something unexpected came up." Thornton was pleased that she had noticed his absence.

"Work?"

"Yes."

Margaret thought the whole thing rather strange. Both Mr Webster and Mr Thornton were being rather tight-lipped about whatever it was.

Thornton didn't want to talk about work. He was thinking about how to ask Margaret for a dance. All these years, Thornton had gone through a number of dinner parties without dancing. Once or twice, he had been forced to twirl around some young lady that Fanny had foisted upon him. He did not really care for dancing but the idea of holding Margaret was too tempting to resist. He hoped she liked to dance. Nobody can be that graceful and not know how to dance. But before Thornton could ask Margaret, Slickson showed up asking for a private word.

"Excuse me," he said to Margaret, hoped whatever it was that Slickson wanted won't take more than a minute.

"Your Irish workers are coming tonight? Why didn't you tell us?" Slickson hissed at him.

"And that concerns you because?"

"It concerns everyone. It's a big risk—"

"The risk is entirely mine. I will do whatever I need to protect myself and my workers. And I will thank you if you can keep the matter to yourself," Thornton spat out. But in his impatience to be rid of Slickson, Thornton had spoken a bit too loudly and Mr Latimer heard the entire exchange.

"I am sorry Thornton, I couldn't help but overhear," Mr Latimer joined the conversation.

When he saw Thornton's brows gathered in annoyance, he said, "Now, now, I am not here to tell you how to run your business but I have seen mobs go wild. I have seen the things they are capable of. I suggest you move your mother and sister to a safer place. They are welcome to stay at my house. It will be a day at most, but I urge you to consider it."

Mr Latimer spoken with genuine concern and Thornton considered his proposal for a moment.

"Very well, I will speak with my mother."

"Good man! Now let's return to the ladies."

Thornton looked at where he had left Margaret but she was gone. Thornton cursed inwardly at letting Margaret out of his sight. He then almost cursed aloud when Mr Latimer led him to his daughter.

While Thornton had been conducting his little conference, Margaret had gone off to find her father. Mr Hale was sitting down in a corner and was talking to an old lady.

"Is that your daughter?" the lady asked as she saw Margaret approaching.

"Margaret, this is Mrs Hampers. She is one of the patrons of the school."

"It's lovely to meet you," Margaret sat down on a chair next to them.

"So what do you do, young lady?" Mrs Hampers asked.

Margaret looked at her father not knowing what Mrs Hampers meant by that question.

"I meant are you one of these frivolous girls—embroidering nonsense all day long and reading silly novels?" Mrs Hampers clarified.

Margaret bristled. It seemed she was doomed to be surrounded by officious older women.

"I do not embroider. And I rather like reading novels," Margaret said, daring the old woman to disapprove.

But her words seemed to have the exact opposite effect. "I like her," Mrs Hampers said to Mr Hale and gave Margaret a twinkling smile.

Margaret was still upset so she did not feel like smiling back and responded to the praise with a mere nod.

"Oh, I really like her!" Mrs Hampers was grinning broadly now.

"Do you have any idea when dinner will be served?" Mrs Hampers abruptly changed the topic.

As if on cue, the butler's voice rang out loud and clear, "To the dining room please!"

"Finally!" Mrs Hampers rose, rather energetically for her age.

Mr Hale, ever the gentleman rose immediately, but staggered slightly.

"Papa!" Margaret immediately held his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Oh dear! I keep forgetting that I am no longer young," he said recovering a little.

"We shouldn't have come," Margaret said, not quite liking the look on her father's face.

"Really Margaret, you must stop treating me like an old man," Mr Hale managed a smile.

"Come Mr Hale, we'll make a fine pair," Mrs Hampers placed her hand supportingly around Mr Hale's arm. "You shouldn't have any difficulty finding a partner," she said to Margaret and walked away with a very surprised Mr Hale.

Margaret looked at them as they disappeared into the dining room. Milton certainly had its share of characters.

"That's the old dragon of Milton," Thornton whispered into her ears from behind.

Margaret was so startled, she spun around and stepped away from him. She looked at him with surprise and shock. She could still feel his hot breath on her cheek and neck.

"I am sorry I startled you."

"Wasn't that your intention?" she said catching her breath and feeling quite cross at being caught so unaware.

"No, I just wanted to make sure Mrs Hampers did not hear me."

"She was well out of earshot, Mr Thornton," she pointed out.

Thornton merely smiled. She was right, he didn't have to bend down and whisper into her ear. He did it because he wanted to. After the guests had all moved to the dining room and he had managed to extricate himself from the Latimers, he had idled behind waiting to catch Margaret. And when he saw her, he found himself staring at the lovely smooth skin on the back of her neck and her shoulders. He couldn't withstand the temptation. So much for his resolve not two nights ago.

"I should go inside," Margaret said not wanting to be alone with him. She had been extremely alarmed by the way he had snuck up behind her and by his presumptuous behaviour. As she looked at him, she realised that he was, for the first time, boldly flirting with her. There was absolutely no mistaking it. And that idea completely unnerved her. Margaret suddenly understood that it was one thing to idly wonder about Mr Thornton and quite another thing to have it become real.

"John?" Hannah was standing at the door of the dining room. "We are waiting for you."

Margaret turned around and quickly went into the dining room.

"Is everything alright?" Hannah asked her son.

"Yes," Thornton took his mother's arm and went inside.

How could I be such a damned fool, he thought to himself.


	15. Chapter 15

Andrew had expected to see Miss Hale being escorted in by Thornton. Instead, Miss Hale had come in quietly by herself and taken her place next to him. Mrs Thornton and Thornton entered moments later and took their places.

"Are you well?" Andrew asked Margaret once everyone sat down.

"I am fine," she said not looking up.

"Miss Hale?" he asked again.

"I am fine. Really," she said still not looking up.

Since he wasn't going to get an answer from her, he turned to look at Thornton. Thornton was listening to Miss Latimer, who sat at his right. But Andrew knew Thornton well enough to know that he was not paying any attention; he was lost in his own thoughts. Andrew wondered what had gone wrong between them. Twenty minutes ago, they had seemed perfectly delighted to be in each other's company. That handshake had lasted ages. But what happened now.

"Miss Hale, you are not fooling me," Andrew persisted.

"I—I assure you I am…" she finally looked up, touched by the genuine concern in his voice but she couldn't continue her lie.

"Yes?" Andrew prompted, after waiting for her to say something.

Margaret once again looked down. What exactly was she supposed to tell him? She didn't even know what was going through her mind, so many conflicting emotions and thoughts were tumbling around in her head.

"I am confused," she finally said, but still looking at her plate.

"That's simple. Work from the outside in. The soup spoon first, then the fish—they follow the same table settings in Milton," he grinned when she finally looked up and gave him a small but genuine smile.

Margaret wondered what miracle had made it possible that she should find someone like Mr Webster here in Milton. Fred too would not have let her look so quiet and unhappy.

"Have you met my father," she asked.

"No, I haven't yet had the pleasure."

"He would love to meet you," she said quietly.

Andrew was now absolutely certain that there must be a brother. Perhaps, he had passed away; maybe that's why she never spoke of him.

At the other end of the table, Thornton was mulling over the fact that the evening had not gone as he had planned. In fact, nothing had gone as planned. He felt as though all the different crises were converging—his feelings for Margaret, the strike, the arrival of the Irish workers. While he could apply his mind and reason to handle the situation with the Irish workers, he found that all his reason and logic went right out of the window when it came to Margaret.

He had been driven reckless by how the evening had gone. He was an impatient man in the best of times, and this evening, his patience had been sorely tested. He hadn't been able to get a quiet moment with Margaret and had almost given up hope. But then he had finally found her standing alone and he had thrown caution to the wind. For a brief moment, he had regretted his bold advance. He wryly remembered his resolution to not let himself be carried away by passion. He hadn't been that strong after all. He knew that he had startled Margaret in more ways than one. He had seen the panic in her eyes as his intentions dawned on her. From tentative friendship and quiet smiles, he had suddenly, in the last five minutes, made her aware of his desire for her. This was not how he had planned it but now that it was done, there was no going back. Besides, Thornton found that he was not enough of a gentleman to be truly ashamed of his action. He could not bring himself to regret the thrill he had felt when his lips had been a breath away from her warm skin. He had breathed her in and now his senses were on fire. Forget regretting, he wanted more.

He reached for his wine glass and as he brought it to his lips, he took a look at Margaret. She was sitting quietly, lost in her own world. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He willed her to look at him.

Suddenly, as if she could hear him, she lifted her head and looked directly at him. He could tell that she was startled to find his eyes on her. A moment later, she dropped her gaze. Even though she was sitting three seats away, he could see the colour spread from her cheeks all the way down to her neck right where there was a tiny, little mole. He had seen it when he had leaned down to whisper in her ears.

He was brought back from his reverie when he heard Margaret's name being spoken.

"… Miss Hale likes to go to Princeton," Miss Latimer was saying. "Surely you don't condone the strikers?" Ann asked pointedly.

A few heads turned to look at Margaret.

"I think it's good to see both sides of an argument. Both masters and workers have reasons for their positions," Margaret said to Ann with as much politeness as she could muster.

"But didn't Mrs Slickson see you take baskets to the strikers," Ann continued.

Suddenly, all conversations stopped. Everyone was now looking at Margaret.

"I have a good friend in Princeton. Her name is Bessie Higgins and—"

"Higgins?" Slickson interrupted. "Isn't he one of the union leaders? Works for Watson, doesn't he?"

"Yes. Terrific firebrand; a dangerous man," Watson said wiping his forehead.

"I am surprised you keep such company, Miss Hale," Mrs Thornton admonished. She had thought Margaret a proper young lady but this news surprised her. She looked at her son inquiringly, but his eyes were fixed on Margaret.

"As I said, Bessie is a good friend and Nicholas is—"

"You are on first name basis!" Ann did look genuinely shocked.

Margaret took a deep breath, controlling her anger.

"Mr Higgins is a good, proud man. It's true he has been driven a little wild by circumstances, but he means no harm."

"If he is such a proud man, I wonder how he accepts charity," Watson asked.

"He doesn't take the food for himself. It's for the three children that he has taken into his home."

"Well, if he cares for those children, he knows what to do. Go to work," Watson said.

Margaret hoped that was the end of the discussion. But Mrs Hampers resumed the conversation, "But who are these children? Where are their parents?"

Once again, all eyes turned to Margaret.

"Their father used to work in the mills," she said.

"Used to? Which mill?" the old woman prodded.

"Marlborough Mills," Margaret said quietly. Everybody now turned to look at Thornton.

"His name is Stephens," Thornton said. "I caught him smoking inside the mill."

"Serves him right. Let him and his children starve. Let them all starve!" Watson said viciously.

Thornton winced. He had always been against Margaret's misguided enthusiasm towards the workers, but his reasons were logical. He didn't want her to associate him with the likes of Watson.

"You do the strikers more harm than good with your basket," he addressed Margaret.

She turned her head and met his eyes.

"Logic would say the longer you support the strikers, the more you prolong the strike. That is not kindness. They will be defeated, but it will take longer. Their pain will be prolonged," he said amid sounds of approval from everyone at the table.

"But to give a dying baby food is not just a question of logic," Margaret said, her voice clear above the din, her eyes flashing fire.

An awkward silence descended upon the gathering. Margaret and Thornton stared at each other, the tension flaring up between them. Somebody cleared their throat and they both looked away. Gradually, the conversations resumed.

Margaret made a valiant attempt to appear calm and collected. Anger, embarrassment, indignation, shame and a hundred different emotions were coursing through her. She felt her self-control, her usual poise slipping away from her. All she wanted to do was run away, run somewhere where nobody could find her, run to a quiet place where she could make sense of what she was feeling.

She had been jolted to the core when Mr Thornton made his intentions clear. But had he declared himself in a way that was expected of a gentleman, she would not have been so shocked. She had always known that Mr Thornton's behaviour was always on the edge of improper, but tonight he had tried to initiate an intimacy, assumed a liberty that she had not given him. But her feelings of outrage were swallowed by shame. She felt ashamed of herself for ever thinking about Mr Thornton. She had not really wanted this or did she? In any case, she had not expected to feel so miserable. But the shame had been taken over by anger at his words about the strikers. A part of her had been relieved when the discussion about the strike had taken place. For a brief moment, she had been able to forget her own confused feelings. But now that the argument was over, she found that she had added anger to the cauldron of emotions that was boiling inside her.

Margaret was relieved when the dinner got over; she could retire to the drawing room along with the other ladies while the men stayed back. In the drawing room, Margaret found that the women of Milton were making their displeasure with her quite clear. The only two people who spoke to her were Fanny and Mrs Hampers.

"I am sorry everybody was so disapproving," Fanny said to her. "Please don't be upset. They will forget about it soon."

Margaret doubted that will happen but she managed a small smile.

"Oh dear! Mrs Hampers is coming this way. I am sorry but I am going to leave you now. That woman is insufferable; she is always telling me to improve my mind," Fanny said and ran away.

"That Thornton girl is always avoiding me," Mrs Hampers said as she reached Margaret's side. "But it's you I want to talk to."

Margaret mentally prepared herself for a lecture on propriety and manners.

"Well done!" she said.

"Excuse me?" Margaret blurted out.

"I said well done."

Margaret looked at the old woman in disbelief. "I just insulted our host."

"Yes. And I quite enjoyed it," Mrs Hampers said. "Can't say that about your poor father. He looked positively ill."

"I hope you are not regretting it already," the old woman said when she saw Margaret's face fall.

"Mrs Hampers, it was not my intention to make a scene. I do stand by what I said, but I wish I had employed some tact."

"Bah! Now you are disappointing me."

"I am not looking for your approval," Margaret bit out and then, immediately regretted her rudeness. She was snapping at people for no reason. "I am sorry."

"Young lady, you should care about my approval. Not many have it. In fact, there is only one other in this room who has it," Mrs Hamper nodded in the direction of Mrs Thornton.

Margaret fell silent at that. While she may manage to win Mrs Hamper's approval; she doubted if she will ever have Mrs Thornton's approval now.

"I think it's time to move to the ballroom," Mrs Hampers said.

The door to the drawing room had been thrown open and the ladies were moving out. Margaret was in no mood to dance; in fact, she had forgotten all about it. Margaret saw Fanny making eyes at her, asking her to join them and leave Mrs Hampers' side.

"Go on, Miss Hale. And tell Miss Thornton that I saw her," Mrs Hampers snorted.

Margaret followed the rest of the ladies into the ballroom. The men joined them a few minutes later. Mr Thornton entered last. He saw Margaret standing quietly in a corner. She stood apart from the crowd in all her beauty and elegant simplicity. Before he knew what he was about, he had started walking towards her. He knew that he had to leave the party soon and if he did not ask her to dance now, he will not get the opportunity.

Margaret had always been aware of Mr Thornton but this was something else entirely. She didn't even have to look up to know that Mr Thornton was striding purposefully towards her. She felt her courage deserting her. She was not ready for this. She needed to be away from this man. Margaret looked around in distress. Where was Ann Latimer when she was needed? But Ann was trapped in a conversation with Mrs Hampers.

Mr Thornton was now standing in front of her. She reluctantly moved her eyes to his face.

"Miss Hale, will you please dance with me," he asked.

Margaret once again looked around for an escape but instead found quite a few people looking at them with a great deal of interest. Among them were her father, Mrs Thornton, Mrs Hampers, Mr Webster, Fanny and of course, Ann Latimer. It became at once clear to her that they saw Mr Thornton's request for a dance as an act of reconciliation after their heated exchange at the dining table. He was being the gracious host, showing her and everyone that he bore her no ill-will. She couldn't refuse him and insult him further.

Realising that she was well and truly trapped, she gave a small nod.

"Thank you," he said and stood quietly by her side while the other gentlemen sought out partners.

Before Thornton could say anything else, Margaret muttered a quick "Excuse me" and bolted to the refreshment table.

She needed to gather herself. She felt angry at how he had manipulated her into a dance. He must have known that she had no desire to dance, least of all with him. Things had changed so quickly between them that she did not know how to react or what to think anymore. How had they gone from innocently talking about curtains to this—whatever _this_ was? Margaret had thought she knew what flirting was but Mr Thornton had stirred something dangerous and dark, this was uncharted territory and all she wanted to do was flee. She felt completely out of her depth with Mr Thornton. He was not a boy like Fred's friends; not a gentleman like Henry, and she frankly had no idea how to deal with someone like him.

While Margaret stood at the refreshment table trying to find some courage, Fanny was talking to her brother.

"I am happy you asked her to dance. I thought it was rather horrible of you to lecture Margaret like that. And honestly, I think you got what you deserved," Fanny said.

"You came all this way to tell me this?" Thornton asked.

Fanny was about to huff off when Thornton remembered he had to talk to her about Watson.

"Fanny, wait!"

"What?"

"Do you…" Thornton paused for words, then decided that a direct question was best. "What do you think of Watson?"

"That mean, horrible man? Talking about letting poor little children starve while packing his mouth with food," Fanny shuddered with revulsion.

Thornton smiled. That was easy.

"Who are you dancing with?" he asked.

"Mr Webster"

"I see. Well, don't step on his toes and injure him. I need him to come with me tonight," Thornton said.

"I have never stepped on anybody's toes," Fanny said with as much dignity as she could summon. "I had an excellent teacher. You hired her, if you remember."

"But I was your first teacher," Thornton said quietly.

When Fanny looked at him puzzled, he said "You must have been four. I was home during my school break. One evening, you had suddenly decided that you wanted to dance and that I was to be your partner. You barely reached up to my knees but you somehow managed to stomp all over my toes. So I had to teach you how to move your feet," Thornton smiled at the memory.

Fanny looked at her brother all the love and awe that she was feeling shining in her eyes. These last few days, she had felt as if she was seeing a new side to her brother. She found that behind that gruff look and scowl, there was humour and deep affection. She had always adored her brother, even as a little girl, but he had always been busy and never had any time for her. But now, things were changing.

Andrew approached Margaret at the refreshment table. She looked as though she was bracing for battle. He was quite sure that she was not going to tell him whatever was bothering her. At the dinner table, she had made a good show of politely listening to his stories but he had known that she had not really listened very much.

"Miss Hale?" he asked.

She jerked her head. "Yes, I am sorry. I was—"

"Wool-gathering?" he supplied.

"Yes," she smiled.

"Miss Hale, will you promise me something?"

She looked at him with surprise.

"If you ever need a friend or if you are ever in need of any help, you will tell me."

Margaret looked at him, rapidly blinking back tears and nodded.

"Excellent! Now to the dance," he said, trying to change the mood. He offered her his arm and took her to where Thornton and Fanny were standing.

The couples had started to assemble on the dance floor.

"I believe Miss Hale is to dance with you," he said with a meaningful expression and brought her over to Thornton's side. Andrew had seen Thornton scowling at him throughout the evening and had quickly understood why. He hoped he was not the reason for the quarrel between the two. A look of understanding passed between the two men and Thornton nodded to acknowledge it.

"Miss Thornton, shall we?" Andrew took Fanny's hand and took her to the floor.

Thornton silently extended his hand and Margaret placed her hand in his. He led her to the dance floor.

She curtsied and Thornton bowed. She still couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes; her eyes were fixed on his shoulder. Margaret gasped when she felt Thornton's hand on her back. It was only then that she realised that they were going to dance a waltz. She raised her left arm and placed it on his upper arm so lightly that Thornton had to look to assure himself that she had indeed assumed the correct position. The music began and Thornton stepped forward. Margaret's heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear the music. She was a second late in stepping back, which caused that the original distance between their bodies to shrink considerably. Margaret was now determined to not miss the beats and focused all her energy to listening and moving, listening and moving and trying to go back to the original distance between the two, but she was not the lead and couldn't direct the steps and from the firm pressure on her back she knew that Mr Thornton was setting the pace and she will have to quietly follow.

"Miss Hale, will you please look at me?" Thornton said after a few minutes.

Margaret finally brought her eyes to his and received a grateful smile.

"Do you enjoy dancing?"

"Yes."

"It is not particularly apparent just now."

"I think you know why," Margaret said after a moment.

Thornton relaxed the pressure of his hand from her back and allowed her to set the pace. Margaret immediately noticed the change and took charge.

"I am sorry," Thornton said.

"For what?"

"Are there so many offenses then?"

He will be damned but he was not going to apologise for what happened outside the dining room. But he could see that she was still upset and he did not want to disturb her further. So he tried another safer line of conversation.

"Mr Hale seems to have made a new friend."

Margaret looked at where Mr Thornton was indicating. Her father was sitting down with Mrs Hampers and watching them dance.

"I fear he is not very well. He won't admit it."

"Perhaps, you can ask my mother for our doctor's address. As a precaution; it will ease your mind."

Margaret nodded. She wondered what became of Ann Latimer and who rescued her from Mrs Hampers. She didn't have to wonder long for she saw Ann dancing with Mr Watson. Neither looked happy. Mr Webster and Fanny, on the other hand, looked wonderfully in accord. They were talking and smiling at each other.

"I must thank you for what you told me about Fanny. I believe we are starting to understand each other a little better. I have a feeling that if I were to now 'forbid' her something, she might actually listen," Thornton said with a smile.

"Brothers are not only supposed to forbid."

"Yes, but we are talking about Fanny."

"You are again being unfair. She showed considerable restraint today. Unlike me."

"You always speak your mind. We may not always agree but as you said, it's good to consider a problem from both sides."

"The suffering of workers is not just an intellectual problem," she said stepping back a bit more.

"True, but it is not just a moral question either," Thornton quickly closed the gap.

"But you cannot be blind to the moral question," Margaret once again stepped back a good deal.

"No, but I cannot let it influence my decisions," Thornton swiftly turned her to the right, letting her know that while he may have given her control for the moment, he was still the lead.

"Yes, you do not run a charitable institution. You must operate the mill only on sound business principles," she bit out.

"I would be interested in seeing how you would handle the strike," Thornton said, realising that that was actually a rather interesting question.

Margaret pondered that for a minute. And Thornton took that occasion to study her face. He realised that he had never really had the opportunity to observe her face so closely whereas she had studied his rather well.

"I don't think my workers would ever be forced to strike," she said after giving the matter some thought.

"Please continue," Thornton said intrigued.

"I don't presume to understand how to run a mill. But in its essence it cannot be all that different from the running of a household," she looked at him to see his reaction. Thornton was listening in rapt attention, so she continued. "When we moved here, the keys to the upper rooms were missing and the cook's room was one of them. For nearly a week, she had to sleep on the kitchen floor and she was obviously not happy. She threatened to leave and we couldn't afford to let her go. So I came to the mill myself to collect the keys, even though, I knew that it was not right. Mr Webster tried to discourage me but he could only provide the keys later and it would be too late by then, the cook would have left. When she found out what I had done, she was quite grateful. She remembered it later when we had to… economise. She understood and did not complain or threaten to leave. She knows that I will do whatever is in my power to see to her comfort."

Thornton wondered if it was possible for him to love her even more. This was a woman with intelligence, kindness and beauty. Her solution was a charming one and it will no doubt work on disgruntled servants, but his workers?

"That's an interesting solution but I doubt the mill workers will be so understanding."

"But how can you say that without trying it."

"Very well, I promise I will try your suggestion one day," he said.

"Oh!" Margaret was so surprised that she stopped moving causing Thornton to crash into her. He immediately recovered and guided her back to the step. Nobody noticed it but that brief moment of full contact sent jolts of electricity through their bodies.

They danced the rest of the dance in silence—the heat and the tension from what had occurred outside the dining room and what had just happened now writhing between them. At the end of the dance, she curtsied again and he led her back.

"Good night, Miss Hale," Thornton bowed. He did not trust himself to say or do anything more.

He motioned to Andrew and as the two were making their way out of the room, Watson attempted to stop Thornton.

"The answer is no," Thornton said to Watson before Watson could even open his mouth.

With a final look at Margaret, Thornton went outside and stood in the calm night. He needed to collect himself, he needed his wits for tomorrow—tomorrow was going to be an important and decisive day.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, Thornton woke up from a bad dream. He sat up in his bed and tried to remember what the dream had been. The dream wasn't so much about events but a feeling—a feeling of utter loss and emptiness. He had experienced this feeling before when he had been told about his father's death. His life had changed that day. Thornton remembered sitting outside the headmaster's room staring at the wall in front of him, trying to recall how his father had looked when he had last said goodbye, knowing that he would never see him smile again, never hear his words of encouragement again, never feel his hand on his shoulders again. Thornton didn't even have the strength to stand up, a dull lethargy had overtaken his body, yet he had somehow packed his bags, boarded the train and arrived in Milton that very night. He had pushed away and forgotten that hollow feeling once he understood the enormity of the burden he had to shoulder. But last night's dream had stirred up that emptiness after so many years. But what left Thornton bewildered, left him trembling with fear was that it was not his father that he had seen in his dream—but Margaret. That sorrow, that leaden feeling of loss was for her.

Thornton rose from his bed and went to the dressing table. He picked up his pocket watch. It used to belong to his father; it was the only thing of his father's that he kept. It was half past six and Thornton had a long, busy day ahead of him.

He had brought the Irish workers safely to the mill last night. For a few days, they will need to stay in the upper floor of the mill. He will have to arrange for food and other basic amenities; speak to the commissioner to get armed guards stationed outside the mill; attend a meeting with the manufacturers; go over the ledgers; get the Irish trained on the new looms; and God knows what else. He didn't have a minute to loose.

Thornton got ready and went to the mill to check on the Irish workers. Williams, his overseer, was already there.

"They are quite afraid, sir. And rightfully so," Williams told Thornton. "One of my lads was telling me that you were seen at the station bringing them in. The word would have spread by now."

Thornton rubbed his forehead. They had been so careful! How did this happen?

"Run to the commissioner and ask him to send the soldiers right away. Use the back door," Thornton instructed and rushed back to the house.

"Has Fanny left for the Latimers?" Thornton asked his mother. After returning from the railway station last night, he had told his mother what Mr Latimer had suggested. Hannah had agreed to send Fanny away for the day but she herself refused to leave her son's side.

"I sent her in the carriage with Mr Webster," Hannah said, not entirely pleased with the choice of escort but Fanny's safety was more important. "What happened," she asked when she saw John looking out of the window.

"We may have been seen at the station last night." Seeing the concern on Hannah's face, he assured her, "Don't worry, I have sent for the soldiers; they will be here soon."

"I will instruct the servants to go to the garret if there is trouble. I will send up the Irish some food," Hannah said, getting up.

"And you will go into the back room, should there be any disturbance. I will be able to think better if I know you are safe. Please?" he requested Hannah.

"Alright. Take care, John. Call me if you need me. I will gather the servants," Hannah said and left the room.

Thornton consulted his watch. The police should be here in about twenty minutes—fifteen, if Williams was quick. He heard the doorbell ring. Thornton went to open the door himself. He thought it would be Andrew but the blood drained from his face when he saw that it was Margaret.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling all the fear from last night returning.

"I came to ask Mrs Thornton about the doctor. Papa didn't look…" Margaret's stopped when she saw Mr Thornton looking behind her and listening intently.

She turned around to see what was wrong. From not so far away, she could hear angry shouts and yells and with each passing second, the sounds were drawing closer.

"There are here. Come inside," Thornton bolted the door when Margaret had stepped in. He ran upstairs to the large drawing room and looked out of the window. Margaret followed him in confusion and joined him at the window.

"What is happening?" she asked.

"The strikers. They are here for the Irish."

"The Irish?"

"I brought Irish workers to replace them. The word has got out."

"You did—" But Margaret's words died on her lips when she heard a loud thud. The strikers were at the mill gates and were trying to break it down.

Thornton and Margaret watched in horror as the angry workers battered at the gate. Within minutes, they tore it down from the hinges and entered the mill compound. The workers saw Thornton at the window and rushed towards the wall of the house. They shouted at him, daring him to face them.

"They are going for the mill!" Thornton exclaimed.

Some of the workers were trying to push open the door of the mill building. But those doors were quite heavy and sturdy and could take the pounding but not for long. Thornton checked his pocket watch again. The police better be here in another five minutes.

He looked at Margaret. She had placed one hand on the glass of the window and was looking below, her face frozen with disbelief at what she was witnessing.

"You should not be here. You better go to the back rooms. Mother is there," Thornton said.

But Margaret was not listening to him. "Where are the Irish?" Margaret asked without looking up from the scene below.

"Inside the mill."

"Those poor souls!" She turned to face him, "Can you not do something to calm these angry men?"

"The police will be here soon. That will make them see reason—"

"Reason? What kind of reason? Mr Thornton, these are poor, starving men who have been driven to this madness by your actions! Go down this instant if you are not a coward. Go down and hear them out, treat them like human beings; don't let the soldiers loose on them. Go down and talk to them like a man!"

He listened to her and the challenge in her words stirred him.

"I will go but you will stay right here," and with that Thornton went to the adjoining room where a balcony overlooked the mill yard. Margaret pulled open the window to hear Thornton.

As soon as Thornton stepped out, the workers gave a loud, almost inhuman cry of anger and rage. Thornton flinched at the intensity of hatred that he provoked in his workers but he stood his ground, taking their insults, threats and anger.

Margaret was dismayed that Mr Thornton was not attempting to talk or reason with the workers. If anything, his arrogant and proud stance were further infuriating the crowd. Margaret was looking at the crowd with growing fear when she spotted Stephens. He was fighting his way to the front. She hadn't seen him since the day he had been beaten and thrown out by Mr Thornton. Stephens looked wild with anger; she saw him pick up a few stones.

"Oh God, no!"

Without thinking, Margaret ran to the next room and out into the balcony, past Mr Thornton.

Seeing a woman come to the front had a sudden effect on the crowd and they immediately fell silent. Even Thornton stood frozen on the spot, unable to believe that Margaret was standing in front of him, facing the crowd.

"Please stop! Stop this madness," Margaret pleaded. "Think about what you are doing. He is one man and you are many. Do not use violence! Go home! Go home to your wives and children. Go home in peace. You shall have relief from your complaints, whatever they are."

"Will he send the Irish packing?" someone yelled.

"NEVER!" Thornton roared from behind.

Instantly, shouts and yells much fiercer and violent that anything they had heard filled the air. The crowd tried to jump and reach for the balcony in their blind fury. Thornton pulled Margaret back.

"This is no place for you. Go inside!"

"They won't hurt a woman," Margaret tried to free her arms from his grasp, her eyes desperately searching for Stephens.

"Are you mad? Look at them. Go back or I will carry you in myself," Thornton shouted at her.

Margaret's eyes found Stephens the same moment he hurled a stone in Thornton's direction. Margaret reacted instinctively and with all her strength pushed Thornton away from the path.

Thornton was frantic about Margaret's safety; he didn't believe for an instant that the angry mob will back away because a woman happened to be standing between them and him. They were too far gone in their fury. But Margaret was refusing to budge from her place; he was prepared to haul her off her feet if that is what it will take. But then, suddenly, she placed her palms on his chest and pushed him away. Before he could react, he saw a stone hit her on the head. He caught her just in time before she fell. He held her unconscious body against him. Blood was trickling down the side of her face.

"Margaret!"

Thornton didn't hear the crowd go silent. He didn't hear anything—he only saw Margaret and the blood running down her face.

"No! Margaret!" He clutched her fiercely to him.

The crowd, shocked by its own act of violence, had gone silent with shame and started retreating, but their progress was halted by the soldiers who arrived on horseback. The soldiers raised their clubs and stuck blindly at the fleeing crowd, scattering them and hurting and injuring many.

Thornton gathered Margaret into his arms and took her inside. He laid her on the sofa.

"Mother! Mother!" he called out.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, shaking her gently, and tried to wake her up. "Margaret, please open your eyes. Please look at me! Margaret, wake up! Margaret?"

"John, what happened? Hannah came running into the room. "What is she doing here?"

"She is hurt! Hit by a stone. She is bleeding."

Hannah noticed that John was too distraught to care how he appeared or what he was doing. She moved to the sofa, forcing Thornton to stand up to make space for her. She carefully pushed back Margaret's hair to see the wound. Hannah did not make any comment for fear of upsetting John.

"Jane!" Hannah called the maid.

Suddenly, the door was thrown open and Fanny ran into the room.

"John! You are alright," she ran straight to her brother. Andrew and Miss Latimer followed her into the room.

"What are you doing here? You were supposed to be at the Latimers!" Hannah asked Fanny.

"I am not a child to be sent away! How could you think that I will stay away while you and John were in danger?" Fanny cried out.

"Miss Hale!" Andrew gasped in shock as he saw Margaret lying on the sofa.

It was then that Fanny noticed Margaret.

"Margaret! What happened to her?" she ran to her friend's side.

"She was hit by a stone. I am going to get Dr Donaldson. You will not move from here," Hannah warned Fanny.

Hannah looked at John. His attention was still focused on Margaret, his face pale.

"John," she shook Thornton gently by the arm to rouse him. "You will not be much help here. Go see the Irish workers. They must scared out of their minds. Talk to them."

Thornton looked at his mother for some assurance.

"She will be fine. She has fainted that's all. Fanny will take care of her. I will get the doctor. Now go," she said kindly.

Thornton went with Andrew and after handing Fanny a bottle of eau de Cologne to apply on Margaret's forehead, Mrs Thornton went out to get the doctor.

Ann Latimer who had seen the look on Thornton's face now knew that she had absolutely no chance. Her hopes had been raised when Mr Thornton had taken her side during the discussion about the strikers. She had accompanied Fanny when Fanny, upon learning that a mob was headed towards Marlborough Mills, had demanded that Mr Webster take her back home. She prayed that Fanny wasn't foolish enough to insist that they drive through the mob but the soldiers had arrived and driven them away by the time they reached. She had hoped that being with the family during this time of crisis would earn her their favour. But Margaret was somehow already there and had their full attention.

"What is she doing here? How did she get hurt?" she asked.

Jane, the maid, who was fanning Margaret answered "Oh miss, she'd have been safe enough, if she had stayed inside or even come upstairs where Mrs Thornton was."

"Where was she then?"

"Out on the balcony—" Jane paused for effect "—with master!"

"With John! What was Margaret doing there?" Fanny asked astonished.

"It's not for me to say, miss."

"Speak!" Ann said impatiently.

"I don't know what she meant by running out like that; but we all saw Miss Hale throw herself at the master before all the people. And then when she was struck, poor master could not let her fall so he held her to him—to support her no doubt."

Fanny was stunned that Margaret would run out to protect her brother and in such a bold manner. "Why would she do that? We thought she liked Mr—Mr Webster," Fanny said quietly.

"She was making a fool of us all. Encouraging Mr Webster while all the time setting her sights on Mr Thornton," Ann hissed.

"I dare say miss is right," Jane said, encouraged by the open hostility that Ann was displaying. "Mr Webster is a right enough gentleman but he is of no significance next to master. Why else would Miss Hale come to the mill every other day? What business does a lady have in a mill? Talking to the hands? Just a trick to catch master's eye, that's what all the servants say."

"See? See how shameless she is, to act so brazen, to throw herself at a man in front of the world to see, to put him under obligation—" Ann poured out her hatred and disgust.

"Quiet!" Fanny said sharply feeling the unfairness of their remarks. She feared that Margaret might hear their words; she had seen Margaret's eyelids flutter.

Fanny's fears were not unfounded; Margaret had heard the entire conversation. She had recovered her consciousness but had been too dazed to open her eyes or talk. She had hoped that at least Fanny would defend her. But Fanny had not said a word. Margaret could no longer bear it and forced her eyes open.

"Margaret! Don't move," Fanny tried to stop Margaret from raising her head. "Mama has gone to get Dr Donaldson. She will be here soon—oh, here they are."

Mrs Thornton immediately came to Margaret's side, "How are you, Miss Hale. Don't get up."

"I am well now."

"Now, young lady, sit down for a moment. Let me look at the wound," the doctor said and gently forced Margaret back into the sofa. He took out a ball of cotton and wiped off the blood to examine the wound.

"Looks worse than it is. The bleeding has stopped," the doctor said satisfied.

Margaret attempted to rise again.

"Miss Hale, you are not going anywhere," Hannah said sternly.

But Margaret was beyond caring. "I am better now. I want to go home," she said in a low but firm voice.

"You are not fit to go. Doctor," Hannah turned to Dr Donaldson.

"Well, if she wants to go, we can't stop her. I can take her home in my carriage. She needs some rest, that's all."

"Very well," Hannah reluctantly agreed.

Margaret rose from the sofa, praying to God that she would not collapse, praying that her feet would not betray her, praying that the pounding in her head would stop. She slowly walked out with the doctor. Ten minutes later, Thornton returned.

"Where is Miss Hale?" he asked looking at the empty sofa.

"She has gone home," Ann said.

"Gone home?" Thornton turned to Hannah. "She was in no state to go home. How could you let her go?"

"We tried to stop her but she wouldn't listen. I sent her with Dr Donaldson. Everything was done properly," Hannah snapped, upset that her son would raise his voice with her.

Thornton didn't say anything, but his fear refused to go away.

"Besides, who could have stopped her? I have never seen anyone so headstrong in—" Ann began.

Fanny who had been sitting quietly, stood up.

"Ann, why are you here?" Fanny asked.

Ann looked at Fanny in surprise and then stood up herself.

"I think _you_ need to go home. You can take our carriage," Fanny said and went out of the room, disgusted with Ann.

Ann Latimer left without a word to either Thornton or Mrs Thornton.

Thornton paced the room to calm himself, to burn off the nervous energy, to work off the anger he was feeling at his family for letting Margaret go. Hannah watched him but didn't say anything. There was no point reasoning with him when he was in one of his moods. She knew he will eventually calm down.

"Slickson is here; Smithers and the rest will arrive soon," Andrew entered the room. "Has Miss Hale gone?" he asked surprised.

"She was well enough to go," Hannah ground out.

Thornton not wanting to stay another minute, lest he completely lose his temper, headed out the door, followed by Andrew.

The news of the riot had spread quickly and the mill owners gathered in Thornton's office and gleefully congratulated him for breaking the strike.

"Didn't even have to use your Irish workers!"

"Mine are already clamouring to come back!"

"Teach those ringleaders a good lesson!"

Thornton stood quietly while the rest discussed the wages and the new rules and decided to not take back any of the union leaders.

Thornton returned home an hour later. Hannah was still in the drawing room. He sat down wearily in his chair. He tried to think, but no thoughts would come. All he felt was a desperate fear that Margaret may not still be well. He still couldn't believe that she was recovered enough to go home. He had to see her to reassure himself. Thornton got out of the chair and picked up his gloves.

"John, where are you going?"

"To see Miss Hale."

He looked at his mother and realised that he hadn't apologised to her for speaking so harshly earlier. He sat on the ottoman in front of his mother's chair and took her hands in his. It was only then that Hannah saw the blood stain on his shirt. Thornton followed her gaze and noticed it for the first time himself.

"That stone was meant for me," he said in a low voice. "She pushed me out of the way."

Hannah sat in silence. "You must give her a mother's heartfelt thanks."

"Is that why you are going there? To thank her?" she asked after a moment.

"You know what I have to say to her," Thornton said, suddenly realising that fact himself. That was what his mind had been trying to avoid.

"I didn't think it would be so soon."

Thornton gave a quiet, sad smile.

"I didn't think it would be so soon either."

"What have you to worry about?" Hannah asked seeing the anxiety on his face. "The girl has all but declared her feelings for the world to see. By now, the whole of Milton would have heard about it. Miss Latimer will make sure of it."

When John didn't say anything, she continued, "I dare say, she _is_ headstrong. And I will have to stop her from visiting Princeton. But you will suit."

Thornton smiled. If his mother thought that she could tell Margaret what to do, then she had another thing coming. Thornton gave his mother a quick kiss and left.

As Thornton walked to Crampton, he tried to think about what he was going to say. He knew he had to ask her; she already knew about his feelings for her. He tried to think back on last night. It seemed ages ago. She had been surprised and shocked, had even panicked, but she had recovered—had recovered enough to spar with him and recovered enough to accept his request for a dance. Perhaps, there was hope; and yet, with each step he took, he felt the same mind-numbing lethargy overtake him. A part of him urged him to turn back, to not go now, to think about this clearly. But another, equally strong part wanted to see her—see with his own two eyes that she was well. For a moment, when she had lain in his arms unconscious, he had thought that he had lost her. That she was gone. He never wanted to feel that way ever, never wanted to be in that situation ever.

But what Thornton didn't realise was that there are more ways than one to lose someone.


	17. Chapter 17

Margaret sat on her bed, staring blankly at the wall. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there. Dr Donaldson had told her to rest but rest would not come. In her head, she heard the cruel, hateful words over and over again.

_Encouraging Mr Webster while all the time setting her sights on Mr Thornton._

_Why else would Miss Hale come to the mill every other day? _

_Just a trick to catch master's eye, that's what all the servants say._

Is that what people thought about her? Is that what Fanny was also thinking now? Is that what Mrs Thornton would also think? It didn't matter that it was not true. It didn't matter that she had never gone to the mill with the intention of throwing herself in Mr Thornton's way. She had gone there to meet Bessie, to meet the children. But the truth didn't matter now. The damage has been done.

They thought that she was in love with Mr Webster—he who was like a brother to her! How had something so innocent and blameless been twisted so cruelly? She tried to think back on her behaviour—had she done something, shown him special regard, acted indiscreetly? No, she thought fiercely. I have done no wrong! Then why—why? And the answer came to her. Of course—for the daughter of a poor schoolteacher, a renegade clergymen, someone like Mr Webster would be considered an excellent match. Fanny and Ann had both encouraged this friendship—always excusing themselves so that Mr Webster and she could talk alone. They had even been seated together at the dinner table.

And if that is what everyone thought, then is it any wonder how her actions this morning would be interpreted. She didn't care what Ann Latimer said—Ann was motivated by her own petty jealousy—but Fanny. Fanny, who would always say what was on her mind, had remained silent—that was what hurt so much. And now the entire town will gossip about it. The news of her reckless behaviour would be all over Milton. Ann Latimer will make it her goal in life to see her reputation ruined.

Papa! Oh God, what would he say? How would he bear it? Wasn't it enough that people were still speculating about his reasons for leaving Helstone? Wasn't it enough that Fred too had been disgraced? This would completely destroy him. He had always been so proud of her, had always put complete faith in her judgement. How would she face him now?

Margaret closed her eyes, fighting back tears.

The truly miserable thing was she was not really ashamed of her actions. She had placed Mr Thornton in danger; she had urged him to go outside. Protecting him was the least she could do. Only she had not expected to regret it so bitterly.

Margaret put her head on the pillow, wondering what would become of her now. Her head was hurting and before she knew it, sheer exhaustion claimed her. Margaret was in deep sleep when she was startled by a knock on her door.

"Miss?" Katie opened the door. "Mr Thornton wants to meet you."

Margaret got up and looked at herself in the mirror. She covered the gash on her temple with her hair. She should change her dress, the blood stain was visible on the front. She thought to call back Katie, but it would take forever to change out of her clothes. She draped a shawl to cover it.

As she made her way down, she dully wondered why he was here. What could he possibly want? To inquire after her? To thank her—

_—__to throw herself at a man in front of the world to see, to put him under obligation _

She froze in her tracks. In all her wretched thoughts about her ruined reputation, how had she forgotten to consider this? Is that why Mr Thornton was here?

Suddenly, the man himself stepped out of the study and stood in the hall looking up at her.

Thornton had been in the study waiting for Margaret. He had heard her footsteps on the stairs but then she had stopped mid-way. Thornton had gone into the hall to see if she was alright. Her face looked a bit pale and her hair was somewhat mussed up but otherwise she looked fine. Thornton almost sagged with relief.

"Ma—Miss Hale," his voice was rough with emotion. Then, controlling himself, he asked "Are you recovered? You had suffered quite a blow."

Margaret wrapped the shawl tightly about her and climbed down.

"I am well," she managed a tight smile.

Thornton motioned to her to enter the study and she walked in. He entered after her and quietly closed the door. She went and stood by the window.

"I did not get the opportunity to thank you for—"

"There is no need. I was after all responsible for putting you in danger," she said quickly.

"No. The decision to go out was my own. I knew the risk I was taking. But I didn't know that you would follow me out."

"Somebody had to reason with them."

"Is that the only reason why you ran out?" he asked quietly.

"I saw him pick up stones. I knew he meant to hurt. I would have done the same for any man there."

"Any man?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," she said, surprised that he doubted her on that point.

Of course, Thornton thought. This was Margaret Hale. He should have known that she would have run down to defend the rioters from the soldiers, if she had been able to.

"But the fact remains that you did save me. You took a blow that was meant for me."

Margaret didn't say anything. She didn't remember what had exactly happened. The last thing she remembered was Stephens hurling the stone, she had no recollection of the rest. She wasn't sure if she had put herself in the path or pushed him away or if the stone had missed its aim, so she kept quiet.

Thornton studied her face for any clue as to what she might be thinking. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she turned away and faced the window.

"You put up the new curtains," he said after a moment.

"Yes, yesterday," she said, softly stepping back a bit to look at them.

They fell silent. Thornton was trying to find the words to say what he had come to ask her. Margaret, on the other hand, was trying to think about what she was going to say, about how she was going to respond to the humiliating question that was going to come any moment now.

"Miss Hale, I didn't just come here to thank you. I came because—"

"Please stop!" Margaret turned to face him. "Please, don't continue," she pleaded.

"Why?"

"I—I know why you are here. Please do not consider yourself under any obligation. I told you I would have done the same for any man there."

"You think I am asking you out of some obligation?"

"After what I have done, how it must have appeared—"

"I would have asked you even if this morning's events had not happened. Perhaps, not today but I would have."

Margaret looked at him without a reply. Unable to meet the intensity of his gaze, she dropped hers and it fell on his shirt where she saw the blood stain. How did it get there? She looked at him in confusion.

_… __when she was struck, poor master could not let her fall so he held her to him_

Margaret turned around in utter mortification. She couldn't help but imagine how it must have looked to the world—her clinging to him like that. Was there no end to her humiliation?

"Surely, you must know about my feelings for you," he tried again, walking towards her, needed to see her face.

"No!" she turned around, making up her mind. She was desperate to hold on to what remained of her dignity and pride. To accept him would confirm everything that people were saying about her. She could live down anything but not the reputation of a scheming fortune-hunter.

"Excuse me?" Thornton was shocked at the sudden change in her.

"I don't know and I do not want to know about your feelings," she said defiantly.

"Are my feelings for you so offensive then? It didn't seem so these last few days or last night," he asked, his temper beginning to rise.

"Last night? Your actions last night were not those of a gentleman!" Margaret lashed out.

"I dare say they were not the actions of a gentleman, but they were the actions of a man in love!"

"And who gave you that liberty?"

"I don't know how you imagine these things ought to be conducted but one word from you would have stopped me. But you never did."

"I am telling you now," Margaret cried out in frustration, not ready to acknowledge the truth of his statements, wishing he would back away at least now that she had said it.

Thornton looked at her not quite believing what he was hearing. "Are you telling me that you are entirely indifferent to me," he asked, towering above her, cornering her, daring her to refuse it.

Margaret was stunned that he was still challenging her. Why was he making this entire situation even more embarrassing and difficult? Instead of backing away, he had her cornered; he was forcing her to think about her feelings. She did not have the luxury of examining her own feelings. Moreover, it did not matter. She was going to refuse him and that was it.

"Mr Thornton, do not presume to tell me my own mind. I will not marry you so please stop convincing me of any regard from my side that you might have fancied," she snapped.

For a moment, Thornton thought about confronting her with the one evidence that he knew she could not deny. But he was sure that she would fling it back in his face, accuse him of not being a gentleman—of going through her personal belongings without her knowledge, of invading her privacy. Is that what he had been reduced to, he thought with disgust. He couldn't bring himself to do that. And what good will it do? He knew he had lost her—lost her to whatever misguided sense of disgrace or pride was driving her. He knew that the more he argues his case, the more vehement and hurtful her denials will be. She will build walls around her and he had no strength to break them down. He didn't care to break them down anymore. He loved her too much to not want the same love in return. But he wanted her love given of her own accord; he did not want to force her into acknowledging it. Besides, if he had to force it out of her, there probably was never much in her heart to begin with.

He looked at her beautiful, stubborn face and felt all hope die inside him. He wearily took a step back—letting her escape, letting her go.

Margaret felt as though some sort of spell had been broken. As though by stepping back, he had cut an invisible thread that connected her to him. He turned away from her quietly. She saw the hurt and defeat in his eyes, in his bowed head, in his slumped shoulders. And it cut her heart to see it. She wanted him to understand her reasons.

"Mr Thornton, please. You don't know—"

"No!" the finality in his voice was chilling.

Thornton turned around, his eyes full of anger and incrimination, "_You_ don't know! But I know myself enough to know my own heart, to not care about what people think. I thought you would be the same. But I was clearly mistaken. You can keep your pride, Miss Hale and I will keep my love. But from now on, you need not be afraid of any expression on my part."

He headed for the door.

"No, no, you don't understand—" she pleaded, following him.

"I understand you. I understand you _completely_." And with that he went out, slamming the door shut.

The strength drained out of Margaret and she clutched the table to support herself. She knew she was going to reject him when she entered the room but she had not known that it would hurt so much.

Through blurry eyes, she saw a note on the table. It was Dr Donaldson's address written in his hand. He must have written it when he had waited for her in the study. He had remembered that that's why she had come to his house this morning. She saw another article that he had left behind—forgotten, actually.

A pair of gloves.

She picked it up with trembling hands and held it close to her heart and cried for everything that she had lost today.


	18. Chapter 18

When Mr Hale returned home early that afternoon, he found his daughter in the study, looking out of the window, sitting very still.

He had heard about the riot at Marlborough Mills and how some woman had tried to protect Mr Thornton and got injured. He thought it must have been Mrs Thornton but from the speculation and conjectures of the people discussing the event, he gathered that it was some young lady. He did not know why he thought that it might be Margaret. But why would she be at the Thorntons' this morning—it didn't make any sense! Still, Mr Hale thought it best to return home early, instead of his customary visit to the library.

"Maggie?" he asked coming inside the room.

She turned around and the shawl slipped from her shoulder. He immediately saw the blood stain on her white dress.

"It was you!" he said rushing to his daughter. "Where are you hurt?"

Mr Hale gently turned her face to check the wound.

"I am fine, it is just a graze," she said.

"What were you thinking?" Mr Hale scolded her. "Putting yourself in danger! I am sure he could have defended himself from whatever it was!"

"I didn't think I would be in any danger."

Mr Hale shook his head at the foolishness coming out of Margaret's mouth.

"Thank Heavens, it is nothing serious. Think of me next time you are about to do something rash like that!"

Mr Hale's first instinct had been to worry about his daughter's safety but as he looked at Margaret's red-rimmed eyes and her subdued face, he became aware of the other consequences of her actions.

"Papa, I am so sorry. I… I didn't…" she could not go any further.

Mr Hale closed his eyes as the full enormity of her actions dawned on him. He slumped into his chair.

"Papa, please don't—"

"Of course, not!" Mr Hale said. Margaret looked so stricken with guilt and shame, he couldn't bear it. "Come here, Maggie," he extended his hand.

Margaret took it and knelt next to her father.

"I am sure you were only trying to do what you felt was right. Even when you were a little girl, you always did the right thing. I know you would have done the same for anyone there."

Upon hearing her own words echoed back at her, Margaret's eyes welled up with tears.

"I am sure all the… the talk will die down. Milton is a big city, people have other things to worry about. I am sure they will forget quickly. Don't trouble yourself. Now go and get some rest," he said kindly.

Margaret kissed her father and left the room.

Mr Hale sat in his chair thinking how he had failed his two children. He had taught them both kindness and honour and good deal else but not one useful bit of common sense. Both his children may well stand pure and blameless before God but not the men of this world. Fred was wanted by the Navy for mutiny and now Margaret was the subject of terrible gossip. He should have sent Margaret to London instead of bringing her to Milton. She would have been perfectly safe there and maybe even married some worthy young man.

Mr Hale had seen Margaret clutching a pair of gloves. He knew they were not his. Has John already been here? Most likely. He knew that John had formed a serious attachment to Margaret; whereas Margaret needed some more time to come to that realisation. After getting off on the wrong foot, they were starting to understand each other better and even after the disaster at the dining table last night, they had managed a dance. Margaret had been rather quiet on the way back home; he knew that she was deliberating things. Which is why Mr Hale had decided to keep quiet and not ask her about what she was thinking. To force her into making up her mind would only push her in the opposite direction. He hoped to God that John had not been foolish enough to do that. Margaret would reject him without a thought.

Back in her room, Margaret sat looking at the gloves. Everything seemed so blindingly clear in retrospect. He loved her; she had known it for some time in a vague sort of way. She had noticed his attentions and the flirting; it had been all so different and dizzying and somehow amid all those new sensations, she had never paid much attention to the feelings behind it all. It's remarkable how a man and woman can talk about strikes, Plato, curtains, siblings, even a dog and yet avoid saying the things that mattered the most. Even more remarkable was that she, who always knew her mind, had been utterly blind to her own heart. Somehow through all the misunderstandings, arguments, prejudice, awkwardness and tension she had fallen in love with him and then realised it at the worst possible time.

She had cried for what seemed like hours after he had stormed off. She had cried her heart out, poured out all her pain and regret and now she felt utterly empty.

Now what, she wondered. She will probably see very little of him from now on, if at all—he had been quite clear on that point. Maybe it was for the better. She wasn't sure how she would face him now or see his pain and know that she was the cause of it. It was over—over before it even began. She took out her sketchbook and placed the gloves on top of it. She then bundled it up and locked it away, next to where she kept all of Fred's letters.

After he left Margaret, Thornton had walked and walked and walked. He didn't care where he was going. He needed to walk, to move—otherwise that lethargy would overtake him. He did not want to feel empty again. Years ago, he had managed to keep it at bay by losing himself in hard work. And this time too he found something to keep the emptiness at bay—anger. The sort of blind, furious anger that would never exhaust itself. He was furious with her—her stubborn pride; her hurtful denials; her arrogant disregard; her damned sense of disgrace.

Yet for all his anger—he felt no hatred. He couldn't—he could never. How long had he known her, he wondered. It felt like he had loved her forever; he tried to remember back to the time when he hadn't known her. His life had been so utterly banal, his days so mundane and yet, he felt more alive now, even with his shattered heart, than when his heart had been untouched by love. He knew he will not be able to stop loving her; he will not be able to un-love her. Which is why he needed the anger, something to hold his damaged heart in place, something to stop him from sliding into utter misery.

He finally stopped walking. Where was he? The hill? He had walked all the way to the hill and hadn't even realised it. He didn't want to be anywhere where he will be reminded of her. He couldn't bear it. As he turned around, he saw someone crouched under a tree. He stepped a bit closer and found that it was Stephens.

The two men looked at each other, shocked at finding themselves face to face. Thornton hadn't seen Stephens since the day he threw him out—that was the day he had met Margaret for the first time. Had Stephens taken part in the riot? It didn't matter. Both the master and the worker were bruised and hurting and lost in their own way. Thornton quietly withdrew and walked away.

He headed back to the mill. There were a million things that needed to be done. Andrew and Williams couldn't possibly manage things on their own. Thornton went straight to his office and was glad for all the work that awaited him. He needed to find a way back to himself.

He returned home well past dinner and found his mother waiting for him. The last thing he wanted was a discussion about Margaret and what had happened.

"She will not have me," was all he said. "You should not have waited up, mother."

"John, come here. What did she—"

"No. Please. The only thing you can do for me right now is promise to never speak of her again," Thornton said without facing his mother and went into his study.

Hannah sat in disbelief. She didn't have to look at her son to know his pain. The hurt in his voice had been as clear as if he had cried in her lap. John had always been good at hiding his pain, but never from her.

Hannah felt a mother's fury rise in her heart. Who did that girl think herself? To reject John! Where would that girl find a better man she would like to know? Especially now, when her reputation was in shreds. Who will have her now? What conceit, what arrogance, what—Hannah suddenly stopped in her thoughts.

Why had Miss Hale rejected John? John, for God sake! A mother's love was blind but Hannah knew that her son was not the sort of man a girl rejected. And if Miss Hale had—even though accepting him would have saved her reputation, not to mention all the money and position that his name would give her—then what did it say about her? Either she was unbelievably foolish or… or she was a girl of rare principles. Whatever motivated her to run out to face an angry mob, calculation was not part of it and now it appeared neither was love. That foolish girl must have done it because she thought it her womanly duty! And now by refusing John it was clear that she was not the sort of girl to take an opportunity simply because it was offered to her. Hannah had lived through enough and seen enough of the world to not recognise common decency. She knew how hard it can be to hold on to it especially when it went against what society expected. Oh, why couldn't John have fallen in love with someone less—no! Of course not! John would never lose his heart to an ordinary girl. And so while the mother in her hated Miss Hale for hurting her son, the woman in her was forced to respect Miss Hale for doing what she believed was right.

Fanny had waited for her brother to come home. She had watched him leave the mill from the window of her room. She had quietly stepped down to the parlour where she knew mother was still waiting for John. She had heard John tell her than Margaret had refused him. She wanted to speak with her brother, ask him what Margaret had said but he had shut himself in his study. And if his mood was anything to go by—she had better leave him alone.

Today's events had left her completely confused. She had always thought that Margaret liked Mr Webster. They were always so happy to be with each other and seemed to get along very well. Last night, Fanny had been very surprised at the familiarity with which Margaret had behaved with Mr Webster. Fanny was friends with Mr Webster for much longer than Margaret but even she would never have touched Mr Webster's arm like that.

When Margaret had been injured, she was surprised that it was John who had looked the most distraught. Mr Webster had looked very shocked but it was nothing compared to how John had behaved. She had never seen her brother so completely out of control or fearful. John must love Margaret and love her very much to be so moved. And maybe Margaret too loved John—why else would she run out like that and save him? Fanny had no idea what to think and had waited for John to return. Even she knew that he would have to ask Margaret now—he was honour-bound. And if Margaret did indeed love him then it would be so, so perfect! It would be so much fun to have her as her sister! But Margaret had refused John—which meant that she must love Mr Webster. Which then made no sense because Mr Webster had not acted like a man in love. What a mess! Fanny went back to her room more confused that she had ever been, not knowing what she was supposed to do or believe.

The next day, Margaret finding some courage from her father's faith in her, stepped out of the house and went to meet Bessie. Milton was back to work and the streets were busy and mercifully, she saw nobody that she might know.

"It could have been a lot worse," Bessie said, looking at the wound on Margaret's head. "What was he thinking? Throwing stones at a woman!"

"It was not meant for—"

"Doesn't matter! There was to be no violence."

"Have they all gone back to work?"

Bessie nodded. All except, Bessie who was now too sick to go back.

"Where is Nicholas?" Margaret asked.

"He hasn't come back home after he had a fight with Stephens. Father told him that the woman he had almost killed was the one who had shown such kindness to his children. That pathetic man."

"He didn't know, Bessie. Don't be so harsh on him."

"I can't help it. It's all over now because of him. Father is completely broken," Bessie lamented.

"Won't your Milton society be harsh on you?" Bessie asked after some time.

"They will forget about it," Margaret said, praying that would indeed be the case.

Every society had its own rules and so while Stephens was condemned by his, Margaret was by hers. For three days, the incident at Marlborough Mills was feverishly discussed in the drawing rooms of Milton.

_Threw herself at him in front of an angry mob!_

_She shielded him with her body!_

_Had even danced with him the night before…_

_What a minx—Mr Thornton of all people!_

_We'll hear of a wedding any day now—the poor man is now bound to make an offer. _

Milton society waited for an announcement with baited breath. But when no such news came forth, people didn't know what to make of it.

_Did he ask her? _

_Of course! He is an honourable man. Can't imagine him not doing it._

_Well, can't imagine her rejecting him either. What was the point of flinging herself at him then? _

While the talk in the drawing rooms ran out of fuel at this unexpected turn of events, the talk turned downright unsavoury in some quarters.

Thornton was having a meeting with the other mill owners about a new act by the parliament that required all mills to burn their own smoke. At the end of the meeting, Slickson decided to hang back while Thornton was still going over some papers.

"Quite a nice piece, eh?"

"What?" Thornton asked absently, still inspecting the papers.

"Your Miss Hale," Slickson smirked.

Thornton immediately stopped working.

"Come on, Thornton. You always had an eye for a good proposition," Slickson leered. "You plan to keep her, right? I dare say she will—"

In an instant, Thornton was at Slickson's throat, "If you utter one more word about her, I will kill you."

Slickson froze in terror seeing the violence in Thornton's eyes. It took all of Thornton's will-power to not beat Slickson into a pulp.

Thornton took a deep breath, holding his temper like a vise, his voice was dead calm. "Miss Hale is an extremely respectable young woman. If I ever hear you speak about her… Do you understand me?"

Slickson nodded weakly and Thornton released him. "Get out!"

Thornton tried to control his breathing but couldn't. He smashed his fists on the table. He knew there would be some talk but this! He couldn't believe that Slickson would dare to speak about her to him. He knew the kind of talk that took place in clubs after a few drinks. The thought of Margaret's name being uttered there was enough to make him physically sick.

How had things gone so horribly wrong? If she had accepted him, none of this would be happening. But then she probably never imagined that such vile things would be said. It wouldn't matter if he screamed from rooftops that she had rejected him. He would gladly do it too, if it would make a difference. Slickson would keep shut for now, but there will be others who will wonder and talk.

Thornton saw what he must do to end all speculation about the nature of his relationship with Margaret. And he must do it right away.

"Papa, Edith has just returned from Greece," Margaret said as she came running down the stairs with Edith's letter in hand. "I dare say she is taking her fancy to Lord Byron to—"

"Maggie! Mr Thornton is here," Mr Hale said as Thornton got out of his chair and turned to face Margaret. "He was quite busy with the reopening of the mill these last few days but we are glad to have him back, aren't we?"

Margaret could do nothing but stare at Mr Thornton as he looked at her with supreme indifference.

"I—I will send up some tea," with that Margaret left the room.

As Thornton sat back, he let out the breath that he had been holding. By discontinuing his visits to Mr Hale, he had unknowingly fuelled rumours about his intentions towards his daughter. He knew he will have to carry on his visits and maintain his friendship with the father, if he wanted to completely squash all talk. He couldn't let the poor man know and he certainly couldn't let Margaret know. Seeing her again had hurt even more than he expected. But he was willing to do it, endure it, for her sake.


	19. Chapter 19

"Come with me for a stroll, Miss Hale."

Margaret blinked in surprise. Mrs Hampers was standing outside the door in all her formidable glory.

"Mrs Hampers, don't you want to come inside and have some tea first?"

"No. Are you afraid of going out now?" Mrs Hampers asked peering down her nose.

"I will get my things."

And so Margaret and Mrs Hampers took a stroll.

"Is it true you saved him from the rioters?" Mrs Hampers said as soon as Margaret joined her.

"Is that why you are here?"

"Yes. But unlike others, I prefer to hear it from the source."

"Yes." There didn't seem much point denying it.

"Quite a brave thing to do."

"I assure you bravery had nothing to do with it."

"What was it about then?"

"I asked him to go out and talk to the strikers. I put him in danger," Margaret said, deciding that the truth can't hurt.

"And he went out just because you told him to?" Mrs Hampers looked incredulous.

Margaret kept quiet.

"And did he ask you?"

"Mrs Hampers, that is no—"

"The whole town is talking about it." Then, after a moment, "You refused him then?"

Margaret did not answer.

"I see. You could hardly do otherwise," Mrs Hampers said thoughtfully.

Margaret looked at the old woman and saw that she understood. Finally, somebody understood.

"Pity about your reputation though. But it will do you good to be seen with me," Mrs Hampers said smugly.

"You should have come sooner then," Margaret pointed out.

"Adversity helps build character. Didn't want to deprive you of the opportunity."

Margaret had to smile. She never thought she will be able to smile about the miserable situation she was in. It actually felt good to smile.

"Does that mean you approve of me?" Margaret asked.

"Don't get too conceited now."

"I could never—not with you around."

"Where is Miss Thornton? Wasn't she a great friend of yours?" Mrs Hampers asked after some time.

"I don't think she will meet me now," Margaret said quietly.

"Foolish chit!" Mrs Hampers said with a huff.

At that very moment, Fanny was sitting with a very surprised Mr Webster. Since the night of the riot, Fanny had been trying to figure out and resolve things but came up with no explanation. She rarely saw John and mother had taken John's request to heart and refused to discuss the matter even when John was not present. Fanny had had enough and so she had gone to the office in the city and demanded to speak with Mr Webster.

"Miss Thornton, I am not sure that's a good idea. Maybe we can talk at your house, later in the evening." _And_ w_ith Mrs Thornton present_, Andrew thought.

"No, I need to talk to you alone," Fanny insisted and closed to the door.

Andrew had left the door to the office open. There were a few people outside and he didn't even want to imagine the talk that will take place if the two of them were found conversing alone in a closed room. Thornton would kill him. Suddenly, in the aftermath of the riot, propriety was foremost on everyone's mind. Except, of course, Fanny Thornton.

"No," Andrew stood up and opened the door again. "Shall we walk then?"

"Alright," Fanny relented and took his arm.

Andrew counted, _one, two_—

"Mr Webster, do you like Miss Hale?" Fanny asked without any warning.

Andrew tried his best not to look surprised. The moment Fanny had stepped inside his office, he knew he was about to have a very awkward conversation. But even he didn't imagine just how awkward. But the lady herself looked perfectly direct and unfazed.

"If by 'like', you mean love, no," Andrew said cautiously.

"Does Miss Hale like you then?

"If by 'like', you mean love, again no."

"Then nothing makes sense!" Fanny said, finally allowing her frustration and confusion to show.

"What doesn't make sense?"

"Can I speak freely to you?" Fanny asked.

_Dear Lord!_ _This wasn't free enough,_ Andrew thought but he nodded.

"Margaret refused John."

"I gathered."

"But if she doesn't care for anyone else, why did she refuse him?"

That was the question that had been bothering him as well. Unlike Fanny, he knew that Miss Hale did have feelings for Thornton, maybe she hadn't yet come around to it, but as for Thornton—his feelings had been as clear as daylight.

"I have no idea," he confessed honestly.

But there was one thing he could clear up. "Miss Thornton, why did you think that Miss Hale and I might… you know?"

"Well, you got along rather famously and Ann said that you two—" Fanny suddenly stopped and scrunched up her nose deep in thought.

Andrew could see the thoughts and ideas rushing and forming in her head and he tried not to think about how utterly adorable she looked when she was thinking very hard.

"Oh! That evil Ann Latimer!" Fanny exclaimed.

Webster was hoping that she would come to that conclusion. But he was too much of a gentleman to disparage a lady, even one as 'evil' as Ann Latimer, so he nodded and allowed Fanny to continue.

"She kept insisting that the two of you had formed an attachment and then she said such terrible things about Margaret that day. And… And I think Margaret might have heard her," Fanny looked genuinely upset.

"Oh! I see. Did you meet Miss Hale after the incident?" Andrew asked.

"No. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. John was terribly upset when she refused and he said that we were not to talk about or meet Margaret ever."

"Well, that's surprising because he has been visiting Mr Hale these last few days."

"What? Then I must visit Margaret. I know people are saying terrible, untrue things about her. They wouldn't say it to me of course, but I know."

"You must stand by your friend then."

"Yes!" Fanny looked incredibly relieved, now that things were clear to her. "Oh, I am so glad you don't 'like' Miss Hale!" she said, carried away by her own happy emotions.

Andrew cocked an eyebrow.

"You two would never suit!" she continued cheerfully.

"I thought you just said that we got along famously."

"But she has no appreciation for music. Cannot sing or play. And you _love_ music," Fanny explained.

"So do you," Andrew said, before he could stop himself.

Fanny looked at Andrew and—here was a sight that Andrew had never thought possible—she blushed.

"Miss Thornton, you should return home. I have some urgent work back in the office," he said quietly.

"Of course! Thank you, Mr Webster. Good day!" Fanny said and walked away.

Andrew stood looking after her. He had always liked Fanny; she was so completely different in temperament from her brother and mother. She must be a changeling, he had thought on more than one occasion. On the day of the riot, he had been stunned by just how stubborn she had been about going back home. She had threatened to walk back alone if Andrew refused to take her back. He had no choice but to give in. That day, he had understood that there was more to Fanny Thornton than met the eye. Her love for her family, particularly, her brother was fierce and unwavering. If Miss Hale hadn't been there, he was quite sure that Fanny would have jumped in front of the mob to defend her brother.

As she turned around the corner, Fanny looked back at him and Andrew smiled and tipped his hat and returned to office.

That evening as Mr Hale waited for Thornton, he thought about what he should do. When John had stopped visiting after the riot, Mr Hale knew that his worst fears had indeed come true. John must have asked Margaret and been rejected. Both of them were stupidly, stubbornly proud and nothing short of a miracle would see them reconciled. Mr Hale had given up hope; but then John had unexpectedly showed up three days ago and had quickly explained how busy things were at the mill and then sat down and discussed Greek mythology as though nothing had happened. Mr Hale had known within the first few days of meeting him that John had most certainly not "blundered" through the Classics in school, as he had claimed. His knowledge of Greek and Latin was perfectly fine, maybe a bit rusty, but that was bound to happen to anyone who never bothered to read it for nearly a decade. That was what had first cued him to John's interest in Margaret—why else would a young man spend his evenings discussing _Iliad_ with an old schoolteacher. And then, of course, there were all the usual signs.

Mr Hale knew that if he asked Margaret about John and insisted that she reconsider her decision, she will probably do it for his sake. But she would never be happy. She would feel that she has been pushed into a marriage merely to save her reputation. She would not allow anything, even love, to overcome the bitterness at the loss of her pride. And the same will be true for John. He certainly wouldn't want a wife who accepted him upon second thought and because she had no other choice. It would be a terrible marriage; they would hurt each other in ways that no amount of love will be able to soothe away. And so after deliberating long and hard, Mr Hale decided that what these two needed is time. Time to put behind what had happened; time to let the hurt of rejection and wounded pride recede. And then maybe start afresh and hopefully the love will still be there.

During these last few visits, John hadn't so much as looked in Margaret's direction. His indifference to her had been absolute. It was clear that they had parted in less than amicable terms. John was most likely here to put an end to any possible talk and restore Margaret in the eyes of the world. But was that all? Was he here because it was his duty as a gentleman or because he still cared for her?

"Free-will. Now here's an interesting subject. Shall we read _Paradise Lost_?" Mr Hale asked when Thornton sat down opposite him that evening.

"Whatever you think best, Mr Hale," Thornton said.

"Maggie, I couldn't find my copy earlier today. You are always arranging things your own way, I can never find anything," Mr Hale said.

Margaret stood up and went to the shelf and located the book. It was naturally on the top shelf—somehow all the books Papa wanted to read were on the top shelf. Mr Hale waited to see if Thornton would get up, which of course he did. Thornton stood up, went to the shelf, pulled out the book and handed it to Mr Hale.

"Ah! Thanks, John!" Mr Hale said and proceeded to turn the pages. Margaret quietly sat back in her chair.

Mr Hale smiled a little. John hadn't even turned, yet he knew exactly which shelf and row Margaret had tried to reach. There was hope after all.


	20. Chapter 20

"Miss Thornton is here," Katie announced the next day.

It had been more than a week that Margaret last saw Fanny. Margaret had no idea why Fanny wanted to meet her now. She went to the drawing room, half with hope and half with dread.

"Margaret!" Fanny immediately jumped up from her chair. "How are you? Are you now recovered?"

"I am fine. It wasn't much."

"I am sorry I didn't come earlier. But now that I am here, everything will be fine," Fanny said with complete confidence.

"What will be fine?" Margaret asked still not trusting anything.

"I mean—you know what people are saying."

"Yes."

"Oh Margaret, I am so sorry," Fanny rushed to her and held both her hands. "That witch Ann! She said such mean things about you and I knew they were not _all_ true. I should have said something then but I kept quiet because I _did_ believe one of the things she said and that confused me so much that I didn't know what to think or do. But now, everything is clear," Fanny said her eyes pleading for understanding.

Margaret was trying very hard to make sense of what Fanny was saying. The only thing she got, and the only thing that mattered, was that Fanny believed her. Fanny's lack for faith in her had been one of the most painful things about the whole episode and now hearing Fanny profess her support made Margaret want to cry and laugh at the same time.

"Tea?" Margaret asked as she sat down relieved.

"We are still friends, right?"

"Of course. But what is clear to you now?" Margaret asked just to be sure that she understood Fanny's rambling explanation.

"That you don't love Mr Webster! And that he doesn't love you either!"

"Oh! And how did you discover that?"

"I asked him."

"You did what!"

"You should have seen his face when I asked him," Fanny grinned.

"I can't even imagine," Margaret finally grinned back.

"That day, you heard everything, right?" Fanny asked suddenly. "I was so foolish, I didn't realise it."

"You were not the only one who was foolish that day."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Mrs Hampers suggested that I ought to be seen in her company more," Margaret attempted a wry smile.

"Oh dear, I am sure it is not so bad. Isn't John also coming to read with Mr Hale?"

"Yes. It is very thoughtful of him."

"It would have been nice if you had accepted him. But you couldn't, right?"

"Right. Tea! Thank you, Katie," Margaret said glad for the distraction provided by Katie and started pouring out the tea.

"And you don't care for him, right?" Fanny asked as Margaret handed her the cup.

"Right."

"Pity."

As Fanny sipped her tea, an absolutely brilliant idea started forming in her head. She wondered why she had not thought of it before. John and Margaret! Oh yes, that can be done. John already cared for Margaret and Margaret can be made to care for John. They just need to spend more time together and Fanny could certainly arrange that! And maybe she can enlist Mr Webster's help. Oh yes, they will be perfect and it would be so romantic, Fanny thought with a dreamy sigh.

Later in the afternoon, Margaret went to visit Bessie and told her about Fanny's visit in hopes of giving her some good news and raising her spirit. But while Bessie listened with a smile, Margaret noticed that she was having difficulty breathing and couldn't talk for very long. Margaret suddenly felt ashamed of talking about her problems; her problems were so utterly silly compared to what Bessie was going through. Nicholas had not been taken back at work and he had to make do with odd jobs now.

"Have they found Stephens?" Margaret asked.

"No, he hasn't been seen since the day of the riot. He is trying to escape the police."

"Are they looking for him then?"

"We are not sure. It seems Thornton did not file a complaint and I don't think Stephens knows that."

"What will become of them," Bessie asked looking at the children.

As Margaret made her way back from Princeton, she tried to think about what she could do for the children; there must be some way to help them. It was evening and the work bells had sounded. Margaret found herself caught against the rush of workers returning home. It was a narrow lane and she stepped aside to let them pass. The young boys and men noticed her and made comments as they passed by. Margaret stepped away and stood inside an alcove and turned her face away from the street. The number of workers passing by swelled with each minute and Margaret stepped further inside to avoid them.

She suddenly felt a hard grip on her elbow.

"No, don't—" she immediately spun around and found herself facing Mr Thornton.

She saw that his jaw was clenched and his eyes dark were with fury. He had always disapproved of her visiting Princeton by herself and now the one time, it had indeed proved to be a bad idea, he had to be there to witness it.

He pulled her out of the alcove and walked her down the street without saying a single word. His fingers were wrapped rather painfully around her arm and she struggled to keep pace with him. Margaret felt as though he was treating her like an errant child.

"There is no need to drag me," she said trying her best to keep the irritation out of her voice, but not entirely succeeding.

He released her arm abruptly. They had reached the end of the street.

"Of course, you will go exactly where you want to go, do exactly what you want to do. I forgot," he bit out and walked away.

So this was to be their first conversation after that day, Margaret thought. She had hoped for something more civil, something more mundane. But some things will never change.

On the day that he had come back, she hadn't known what to think. She had reconciled herself to the fact that it was over. But then suddenly he was there in the study with Papa and for a fleeting second, Margaret had felt hope—a foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, they can at least remain friends—but that hope had died instantly. There had been so much resentment in his eyes, it almost made her shrink away from him. She remembered his stinging words to her. This was a man who did nothing by halves, she realised. His indifference hurt more than his anger but Margaret decided to brave it out. She forced herself to sit in the study every day when he came visiting. If he was entirely indifferent now, then she could be too—or at least give a very good imitation of it.

As he walked away, Thornton forced himself to calm down. He had been returning from a visit to Mr Latimer. The mill was back to operating at full capacity and Mr Latimer had declared himself quite satisfied and quite willing to continue his investment in Marlborough Mills. It was the first good news Thornton had this week. Thornton hadn't noticed the rush of workers but he had noticed the woman who was standing facing away from the street. It was hard not to; he could recognise Margaret anywhere. And seeing where she was standing and why made his blood boil. He knew he had all but dragged her out of that street but it was either that or lash out at her in full public view for being so heedless of her own safety.

Thornton was surprised at how relieved he felt at being able to, for once, in all these miserable days, direct his anger at someone who truly deserved it. He found himself snapping at Williams, the workers, the servants and he hated himself for it. Andrew had been wise to stay away and incredibly, Fanny too had stayed well out of his way. His mother knew he had resumed his visits to Mr Hale and true to her promise, she had not questioned him or mentioned it. He would not discontinue the visits but they left him emotionally exhausted and frustrated. So yes, Thornton was quite glad for the opportunity to let out some of his tightly-clenched emotions. And if the brunt of it happened to fall on the very person who was responsible for all his suffering, then all the better.

That evening, Mr Hale talked about Lucifer's false claim to the throne of Heaven. John Thornton had certainly earned more than his share of Heaven after what he was putting himself through every day, Thornton thought with a humourless smile. He wondered how much Mr Hale knew of what had passed between Margaret and him. Margaret was quite close to her father, but there were obviously limits to what a daughter shared with her father. In any case, Mr Hale must certainly be aware that she had refused him. Thornton knew that Mr Hale liked to play the absent-minded father whenever it suited him. It was rather endearing actually and he could see where Margaret got her impish charm from. These days Mr Hale was doing a remarkable job of pretending to not see the coldness between him and Margaret. But Mr Hale's enthusiasm for literature was infectious and despite everything, Thornton found himself getting drawn into the intricacy and epic scale of the poem and forgetting his heartbreak for some time.

Margaret was sitting quietly with her book, but in truth she was listening to her father's comforting, rich voice. He used to read stories to her and Fred when they were young children. Both of them would sit spell-bound by the magic that Papa would weave with his voice. But her childhood reverie was broken by a different voice—a velvety, deep baritone that reverberated and sent a shiver down her spine.

"I believe God intended for man to have free-will," Mr Thornton was saying.

How come she had never noticed his voice before, she wondered. She had simply assumed that it was his Darkshire accent but now listening to his voice, she realised that accent had nothing to do with it. He would still have that voice even if he spoke with a Southern accent. But then she had not noticed so many things, and now that voice would only speak to her in anger, if at all. Margaret suddenly felt more weary than she cared to admit. Nothing was right; nothing felt right.

"… Maggie?" her father asked.

She looked up a bit startled. "I am sorry, Papa. Did you want something?"

"No, I was asking if you think God intended for man to have free-will."

"Uh—I… " Margaret hadn't ever considered such a question before and she was frankly at loss. But, as always, she tried to think about it.

Mr Hale waited patiently when he saw his daughter pondering the question. Thornton, of course, didn't look up. He knew it was only a matter of time before Mr Hale involved Margaret in a discussion.

"I don't think it matters," she finally said.

"Ah! Why?"

"Can man do exactly what he wants? What free-will did… what free-will did Bessie have? Or Stephens' children? Bessie told me that she must have become ill as a child when she started working in the mills. I don't think she had much free-will in the matter. Or those poor children? It seems their lives have been decided by someone else' actions. It hardly seems fair. And even if they had free-will, what choices do they have?"

Sometime during this speech, Thornton had unknowingly turned around. Something about Margaret's voice and her manner had taken him by surprise. He had never seen her look or sound so vulnerable and lost.

"So you think our lives are decided?" Thornton asked quietly. "That fate or destiny is supreme. That Stephens wasn't exercising his free-will when he chose to smoke inside the mill after being warned twice before."

Margaret was surprised that he finally chose to speak with her and without any anger. But once again, they were at an impasse.

"Well, both of you make excellent points," Mr Hale stepped in and they turned their attention to him. "But fate and free-will can be compatible."

"Not always," Margaret said.

"But it is possible," Mr Hale insisted.

"How would it even work?" Thornton asked.

"The mystic spinning of threads," Mr Hale said smiling at both Margaret and Thornton.

"There is nothing very mystic about the spinning of threads, Mr Hale. Neither in life and certainly not in my mill," Thornton said. "The only mystic thing that happened was Mr Woof," he said and without even looking, he knew that Margaret had smiled, just as he had hoped she would.

"Ah! But you don't know. Even the Gods had to submit to the three Moirai. And we are but mortal men."

"I think you like Greek mythology better than this Biblical story," Thornton said.

"That I am afraid is true. But we must not abandon our epic, it is about to get interesting," Mr Hale said and they went back to _Paradise Lost_.

As Thornton stepped out of Mr Hale's house an hour later, he knew that he was as much in love with her as ever, maybe even more. Besides, who was he fooling? He needed to be around her, even when there was no hope, and no amount of bitterness or heartbreak was going to change that. Some fate indeed, that he should find both his torment and comfort in the same person.

Like Thornton, Mr Hale had noticed Margaret's sombre mood. It was so unlike her to be so quiet and so reserved. The events of the last few days were beginning to take a toll on her.

"Maggie, why don't you go to London? You said your Aunt has invited you to join her. I think it would be a great break for you. You must visit the Great Exhibition and tell me all about it."

"I think that might be a good idea," Margaret said after a while. "I think I would like a break."


	21. Chapter 21

The London break proved to be a very good idea indeed. Being back in the house where she had spent so many happy years, being surrounded by people who understood her and did not judge her restored Margaret's spirit considerably.

Edith and Aunt Shaw fussed over her and Margaret happily submitted herself to them without much protest, except when it came to Henry Lennox. Edith was still determined to see them married and found every available opportunity to throw them together. Margaret tolerated it as best as she could and successfully avoided having to spend time alone with Henry. But Henry always managed to contrive private moments and conversations between them even when they were not alone.

Avoiding Henry was what Margaret had been doing when she quietly disengaged from the group and went off by herself during their visit to the Great Exhibition. Henry had already been to the exhibition and had taken it upon himself to be Margaret's guide. Margaret just wanted to look at the exhibits without a constant stream of droll remarks. So she had snuck off.

She was going from one stall to the other, admiring the displays, happy to be by herself, when she thought she heard an achingly familiar voice. Margaret allowed herself to be led by the pull of the deep, velvety voice and found Mr Thornton at the end of her trail.

"Technologically, we are the envy of the world. If only there was a mechanism that allowed us all to live together, to take advantage of the great benefits that come from industry. But that will be for future generations. We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique but we cannot stop man from behaving as he always has."

As his eyes swept over his audience, they were startled to find Margaret among them.

Somebody asked him a question and some more people joined the group, creating a human wall between them. Margaret quietly withdrew as she could no longer see him amid the growing throng.

Fate or free-will, Margaret wondered. Or both, as Papa had insisted.

Margaret walked not quite caring where she was going; she occasionally stopped here and there but she found herself unable to pay any attention to any of the exhibits. She should have at least greeted him or acknowledged him, she chided herself. But she wasn't sure what mood he was likely to be in; besides, he was surrounded by people, she reasoned to herself. Finally stopping, Margaret looked at the exhibit in front of her. It was a loom—at least a type of loom. Mr Thornton would know about it, she thought as she looked at the display board for a name and description.

"It's a double-action Jacquard loom."

Margaret immediately turned around and found him standing behind her. He stood there, looking at her, waiting for her say something—giving her the opportunity to decide how this chance encounter will go.

"And what is unique about this loom?" she asked tentatively.

"It speeds up the weaving process by applying more power," he said and stood next to her. "Do you see those two cylinders there?"

When Margaret nodded, he continued, "Single-lift machine have just one cylinder. Those metal bars inclined in opposite directions—they are called griffs. Each griff is attached to a cylinder and each griff controls the motion of a set of hooks that moves the needle and threads. But with the double cylinder arrangement, there are double the number of hooks than would be in a single-lift machine. So one cylinder acts on one set of hooks on one pick and the other cylinder acts on the other set of hooks on the next pick. The cards for each cylinder are also cut in a suitable manner for each pick."

"What do the cards do?" Margaret asked completely engrossed and curious.

"They indicate the weave pattern. See how they are laced together. Each card corresponds to a row of the design. The hooks and needles go through the holes in the card."

Thornton looked at Margaret to see how much of all this was making sense to her. She was looking at the loom intently.

"But you don't think this design is successful," she said.

Thornton wondered how she guessed that.

"That's right. Given the speed, it is highly likely that one of the cylinders will get ahead of the other. If that happens, the card will be skipped and the weave pattern will be ruined," he explained.

"And if the weave is of poor quality, it won't matter how quickly it was made," Margaret finished.

They looked at each other, both relived that they finally managed a conversation by themselves without any misunderstanding, without being at cross-purposes. It didn't matter that it was about the workings of a loom. Thornton was about to ask her what made her suspect that he did not think the design was successful, when he heard someone call her.

"Margaret!" Henry ambled over. "What on earth are you doing in this section?"

Thornton was faced with a well-dressed, handsome young man, who called Margaret by her first name and was standing close to her, in a rather familiar way.

"Henry!" Margaret turned as well. Thornton felt as though he had been punched in the gut when he heard Margaret call the stranger by his name as well.

Thornton and Henry looked at each other, sizing each other up. Margaret felt all the awkwardness of the situation.

"This is Mr Thornton. He is a friend of Papa's," Margaret said.

"All the way from Milton," Henry asked.

Thornton didn't even bother with a response.

"Where is aunt? And Edith?" Margaret asked, not wanting Mr Thornton to think that she had come alone with Henry.

"Edith sent me to find you. I must say I searched for you the world over only to find you among machines," Henry looked around with a superior, bored expression.

"They are quite fascinating actually," Margaret bristled.

"Well, if you insist," Henry said with a smile, leaning slightly towards her.

"I must go," Thornton said and walked away.

"No, wait," Margaret went after him. She wanted to tell him that there was nothing between her and Henry but she didn't know how to say it.

"How is Papa?" she asked trying to keep him from going away.

"He is well."

"You must tell Mr Hale how the London break is suiting Margaret," Henry had once again joined them. Henry instinctively knew that it would not be a good idea to let Margaret alone with Thornton.

"Don't you think so, Thornton?" Henry asked, feeling the need to show a superior claim over her.

Thornton drew up to his full height and turned the full intensity of his stare on Henry.

"Doesn't Margaret look well?" Henry continued.

"She always looks well," Thornton said perfectly calm.

Thornton had gone straight for the jugular and Henry for the first time in his adult life found himself without a reply. He understood belatedly that Thornton was not a man to provoke needlessly.

"Margaret!" another familiar voice called out.

It was Fanny and Margaret was never so happy to see anyone in her life. The open hostility between the two men was starting to get unbearable.

"How wonderful to see you here! You have come to London at last!" Margaret said.

"Yes. Mama agreed upon it only because John was coming," Fanny said and then looked quizzically at Henry.

"This is Mr Lennox. He is my cousin's brother-in-law," Margaret said.

"Oh, there they are," Edith and Aunt Shaw joined them as well.

"Goodness, Margaret! We looked all over for you," Edith said.

"Aunt Shaw, Edith, this is Mr Thornton and Miss Thornton," Margaret introduced them.

"Are you enjoying your time in London?" Edith asked Fanny.

"Very much. Now that John has completed all his work, I have his full permission to drag him anywhere," Fanny said.

"Then we better leave here," Thornton said. As much as he wanted to be near Margaret, he had no desire to see her with another man.

"But we just met Margaret!" Fanny protested.

"Why don't you join us for tea this afternoon?" Edith asked Fanny. "I know you are great friend of Margaret's and any friend of Margaret's is my friend."

"I will send the carriage to collect you," Thornton said to Fanny and once again turned to go.

"Will you not join us?" Margaret asked stopping him. She couldn't let him go away thinking that Henry had any hold over her. She couldn't bear what he would think of her.

Thornton looked at her, trying to understand her reason. She must know this can't be easy for him.

"Please," she said quietly.

Thornton look over to Henry, who looked very much like Thornton couldn't leave soon enough. He looked back at Margaret. She had already broken his heart; he could only hope she would not be cruel enough to do it again. Thornton relented with a nod.

Since it was already afternoon, the company decided to go home straight from the exhibition. While they waited for the carriages, Thornton studied Margaret and Henry. They were standing with her aunt and from Margaret's manner it looked like she was trying to put as much distance between her and Henry.

"Your father's friend? What does he do?" Aunt Shaw asked.

"He owns a cotton mill."

"A manufacturer?" Aunt Shaw was surprised. "Well, his sister looks like a nice young lady."

"I assure you 'manufacturers' are no different from us. He and his family have been very kind to us. Please don't fall into the same prejudice as me," Margaret entreated her aunt.

"I would have hardly thought a manufacturer would appreciate a show like this," Henry said.

"You are wrong. He is very knowledgeable and very interested in the world," Margaret said. She wondered if Henry would be able to tell her the intricacies of Law if she asked him. Would he be able to convey any of his enthusiasm or passion for a subject? Did he even feel any enthusiasm or passion for a subject other than himself? She had been annoyed by his droll but dismissive comments about almost everything that they had seen at the exhibition. He thought himself too superior to show admiration for anything.

Henry was looking at her sceptically.

"Really, I know him to be." Margaret ground out.

When they reach the house, Aunt Shaw politely excused herself. She was tired from all the walking and needed to rest and left Edith, Henry, Fanny, Thornton and Margaret to enjoy the afternoon tea.

"How do you take your tea, Mr Thornton?" Edith asked as she began handing out the cups.

"Cream. No sugar," Margaret said automatically before realising what she had done.

"Oh," Edith looked at Margaret with an arched eyebrow.

A meaningful silence fell on the gathering. Henry clenched his jaw. Fanny supressed a smile. Margaret studied the teapot. And Thornton looked at Margaret in honest surprise.

Edith poured out the tea, added a dash of cream, no sugar and handed it to Thornton. She then looked at Fanny.

"Lots of sugar please," Fanny grinned and Edith immediately saw in Fanny a sister who was going to make a case for her brother. Very well then, Edith had already had a head start.

"You have such a lovely piano. Do you play?" Fanny asked.

"Yes. Captain Lennox agreed to order one for me at Bath. I believe music is one of the necessities of life," Edith said.

"I completely agree. Now if only Margaret were musically inclined," Fanny complained.

"Well, Margaret likes to draw. She is quite accomplished," Edith said coming to Margret's defense.

"Really? You never told me. What do you draw?" Fanny asked Margaret.

"Portraits," Edith answered. "She has drawn everyone in the family. She is quite brilliant," Edith gushed.

Margaret didn't quite like where the conversation was going and she had a real fear that either Edith or Fanny was about to say something very awkward. Margaret's nervousness was not lost on Thornton and he knew exactly why.

"Didn't Margaret draw a portrait of you, Henry?" Edith asked smiling at Henry, knowing fully well that it was true. She had been there when Margaret drew it.

Margaret saw that Thornton had stiffened. She wanted to strangle Edith for so shamelessly suggesting an attachment where none existed. As if Henry wasn't doing a marvellous job of it by himself.

"Well then, you should draw John!" Fanny said not to be outdone. "I would like to ask you to draw me but I already have a portrait!"

Margaret wished the earth to swallow her.

"I— I… I mean it will—it will take a lot of time. I am sure Mr Thornton will be quite busy to spare so much time," Margaret tried her best to appear nonchalant.

"But I am sure John—" Fanny began.

"Fanny. Miss Hale is right. I wouldn't have the time for it," Thornton interrupted her. And because he wasn't entirely a saint, "Besides, she might need plenty of practice drawing a new face."

The memory of her sketchbook and how she had indeed practiced drawing his features came flooded back to her. Margaret was quite sure she turned a flaming red. Thornton thoroughly enjoyed her discomfort and continued sipping his tea with the nonchalance that had eluded Margaret.

"Well, it only took you an hour to do mine," Henry said somewhat smugly.

"That's because you have an easy face to draw," Margaret said and got up.

Henry wasn't sure from Margaret's tone if it was a compliment or a put-down. But Thornton knew that tone of voice; Margaret used it when she wanted to dismiss someone. He smiled; one ought to take one's pleasure where one can.

Margaret stood by the window pretending to study the flowers, but in truth, she was trying to regain her composure. Fanny joined her.

"Margaret, how about we spend tomorrow together? You promised me to take me to your modiste, remember? And maybe we can visit some of the parks?" Fanny asked.

"Certainly! Fanny, do you mind if I ask you to come with me to visit Dixon tomorrow. Do you remember, I mentioned her once before."

"Your mother's maid, right?"

"She is more than just my mother's maid. I haven't been able to visit her in all the time I have been in London. Aunt Shaw doesn't get along with her and so Edith won't go with me."

"Of course! It's done then. Let's go back. Poor John is outnumbered."

The rest of the tea went by uneventfully. Edith and Fanny talked and Margaret provided the mediating comment. Thornton and Henry did not exchange a word.

After they left, Margaret went to her room to reflect upon the day's events. Who would have thought that she would run into him at the Great Exhibition! Even though Henry had tried his best to—

"'Cream. No sugar'?" Edith stormed into Margaret's room and shut the door.

"What?" Margaret looked at Edith in surprise.

"How do you know how he takes his tea? _Why_ do you know how he takes his tea?" Edith glared at her.

"He comes to read with Papa and I have served him tea more times than I can count."

"Really? How does Henry take his tea? You have made him tea plenty of times," Edith crossed her arms and waited for an answer.

Unfortunately, for Margaret, she did not remember or even know. The truth was she wasn't even aware that she knew how Mr Thornton liked his tea. It's just that at some point she had noticed that whenever he got himself a cup he never put any sugar and so she too had stopped adding sugar to his cup without thinking very much about it. She had been just as surprised as everyone when the answer rolled out of her tongue so readily.

"Well?" Edith was still waiting for an answer.

"Come now, Edith. What a tempest in a teapot," Margaret attempted to distract Edith.

"Oh no, you are not distracting me. You wrote to me that Mr Thornton was entirely unpleasant and ill-tempered and that you wished to never see him again."

"I was wrong. I misjudged him initially."

"And you didn't tell me that he was… that he is… Heavens, Margaret! From the few lines you wrote about him, I thought he was a horrible, thoroughly disagreeable tradesman. I kept wondering if the Mr Thornton you had written about was his father. It took me nearly an hour to figure out that there is no other Mr Thornton and that _that_ Mr Thornton is _the_ Mr Thornton who is in my drawing room. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That he looks like that! And that he is young! And that he dotes on his little sister!"

Margaret was about to tell her that it was because she feared an outburst of exactly this nature that she did not tell her more about Mr Thornton. But Edith could not be stopped.

"And why was his sister trying to get you and him to spend time together? Don't think I didn't notice that."

"Really Edith, that's rich coming from you."

"It's because I think you and Henry will be perfect."

"No Edith, it will be perfect for you. But I don't care for Henry and you can't make me care for him just because you prefer it," Margaret was glad to be able to finally say it to Edith.

"Oh!" Edith sat down on the bed deflated.

"I am sorry. But please understand," Margaret went to sit by Edith.

"Is there no hope that you might feel differently about Henry?" Edith asked.

"None. Absolutely none."

"And what about Mr Thornton?"

"What about him?"

"Margaret!" Edith warned.

"He is a good friend of Papa's and his sister is a good friend of mine. That's all."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Thornton and Fanny were having a similar conversation in their carriage.

"What?" Fanny asked when Thornton stared at her for a good part of the ride.

"Don't think that I don't know what you were trying to do back there."

"What was I trying to do?"

"Fanny," Thornton warned.

"Well, why not?"

"Because no good will come out of it. And if you must know she refused me."

"But she can always change her mind," Fanny argued.

"Does Miss Hale strike you as someone who will change her mind?"

"But John—"

"Fanny. No," Thornton looked out of his window, signalling the end of the conversation.

Fanny grumbled to herself and crossed her arms.

If he thought, he could tell her what to do, he had another thing coming, Fanny thought and stubbornly set her jaw.


	22. Chapter 22

The next day, true to her promise, Margaret took Fanny to Madame Emeraude's modiste. The two girls had a wonderful time and Fanny gleefully ordered a wardrobe to last an entire year. While the two were having a great time, Thornton met with a few contacts that Mr Latimer had suggested. All in all both parties had a successful day.

Margaret and Fanny were now ready to make true the final plan of their day: a visit to Dixon, when Fanny—no one, least of all Margaret, was quite sure how—managed to twist her ankle. They immediately returned to the hotel and Margaret asked the hotel maid to bring a hot compress.

"I should have been more careful. The curbs in London are rather high," Fanny complained.

"There were no curbs where you fell down," Margaret pointed out.

"I thought there was."

"We were in a park!"

"The grass, then."

"Really, Fanny! If I didn't know you, I would have thought you were avoiding the visit to Dixon."

"Oh no! Oh dear! I am so sorry, Margaret. Of course, not! I know what to do. I will ask John to accompany you," Fanny stood up and began limping towards the door.

"No! Fanny! Sit down. It is not necessary. I can go by myself—"

"Nonsense! It is the least I can do. I know how much you were looking forward to visiting Dixon."

"No, no. Please," Margaret positioned herself between Fanny and the door. "Try to understand. It will be so awkward!"

"Why should it be awkward? You don't care for John, right?

"Right."

"And he only asked because he was honour-bound, right?"

"Right."

"So what's the problem? Besides, this is not Milton, so nobody is going to say anything."

As far as logic went, it was pretty unassailable. Except, Fanny didn't know half the truth. Fanny shoved Margaret aside, opened the door and went out.

"What happened?" Thornton immediately stood up when Fanny limped into his room.

"Sprained my ankle. It's not bad, the hotel maid will be up with the hot compress," she said with a brave smile.

"You shouldn't be walking. You should be in your room," Thornton said ready to take her back.

"I came to ask you something. It is about Margaret."

Thornton narrowed his eyes and regarded Fanny.

"What about her?"

"She has been so kind to me today. Taking me to all the places. Yesterday, I had promised her that I will go with her to meet Dixon."

"Who is Dixon?"

"Her mother's maid. It seems she is quite close to her and was most eager to visit her and I was wondering—" Fanny started explaining.

"Fanny! You think I can't see through you?" Thornton asked, thoroughly annoyed.

"You think I deliberately sprained my ankle over what you said was a lost cause?" Fanny asked outraged.

"Yes."

"Can't you just accomp—"

"No."

"Fine! Don't go!" Fanny somehow managed to storm out of the room, even though she was limping.

"He agreed," Fanny came back into her room smiling.

"What!"

"I don't know why you were making such a fuss about it. His room is on the other side, two doors from mine. Oh, my feet," with that Fanny plonked herself on the sofa.

Margaret sat there in disbelief. It didn't make any sense. Yesterday, she had to practically plead with him to join them for tea.

"I think I would like to rest now," Fanny said significantly.

"Oh! Yes. Well, I guess I will leave you," Margaret reluctantly stood up.

"Yes," Fanny nodded wearily.

"Are you sure you are fine?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," Fanny said with a yawn.

"Alright, then. Get well," Margaret went out and gently closed the door.

She stood in the corridor irresolutely. Fanny must have strong-armed Mr Thornton into accompanying her. There is no other way he would agree to it. This was beyond humiliating.

She knocked on his door, intending to cancel the visit.

"What now?" Thornton asked annoyed as he opened the door.

"You don't need to bother, Mr Thornton," Margaret said, flushed with both embarrassment and anger at being treated thus.

"I am sorry. It thought it was Fanny," he said quickly.

"I gathered as much," Margaret said walking away.

"Wait," in four strides, he was in front of her, blocking her path.

"I know you agreed to accompany me only because Fanny must have insisted. Believe me, I tried to stop her. I came to tell you that there—"

"Do you have her address?"

She blinked.

"Dixon's address," he clarified.

"Please, you are under no obligation to—" Margaret said.

"I never do anything out of obligation," he cut in. "I thought I had made it clear that day."

That day being the day of the riot, the day of the doomed proposal. Margaret was surprised that he had brought it up. She had refused him then and she didn't want to do it again—at least not over something so trivial.

"I don't have the address written. But I remember it," she said.

He stepped aside and motioned her to lead the way.

Margaret gave the coachman the address and stepped inside without any assistance from Thornton. They sat quietly in the carriage, opposite each other and looked out of their respective windows.

Thornton wondered what had made him change his mind. Perhaps it was because he wanted to meet this Dixon. A person that Fanny had said Margaret was close to. Her family in London seemed like a tight-knit family, with much warmth and affection. He now wanted to know about her life in Helstone. Some still rational part of his brain warned him—told him to stop, told him that this was utter foolishness, told him that all he will do is end up more in love with her. As if he needed any more of that. But he had long decided to go down this path and go down he will, no matter where it may lead.

Dixon lived in a quiet part of London, humble but respectable. The carriage stopped in front of a row of buildings. Margaret stepped down, again without any assistance from Thornton. Dixon lived on the first floor of a small building. Margaret climbed up the stairs, followed by Thornton. They reached the door to the house and Margaret knocked. A minute later, the door was opened by a stout, old woman.

"Dixon!" Margaret threw herself at the woman with a joyful squeal.

"Lord! Miss Margaret!" Dixon pulled Margaret back to take a good look. "Is it really you?"

"Who else would be so impertinent to do that," Margaret replied with a grin.

"You haven't changed at all," Dixon looked at Margaret with affection.

Dixon's eyes finally fell on the tall gentleman who stood behind Margaret and was regarding the reunion with a quiet smile.

"Dixon, this is Mr Thornton. He is a friend of Papa's."

Dixon gave Thornton a good hard stare and then looked at Margaret with a scowl. Dixon looked ready to explode at Margaret over the impropriety of her travelling with a gentleman across London without a chaperon.

"Dixon, don't!" Margaret warned.

"Don't what?" Dixon said hands on her hips.

"Let us in first," Margaret tried to move Dixon inside, lest she start lecturing her right there on the doorstep.

Dixon grumbled and let both of them in.

If Thornton found the whole situation awkward, he didn't show it. He sat down on a chair and watched as Dixon hauled Margaret to an adjoining room to no doubt lecture her about travelling with him alone. He wondered why Dixon didn't come to Milton with the Hales, at least she would stop Margaret from going off to Princeton by herself. While he couldn't hear much beyond angry whispers, he could see Dixon shaking a finger at Margaret and Margaret listening with her arms crossed and with a bullish expression on her face. This went on for a good five minutes and Thornton started to feel sorry for Margaret. Maybe there is a reason why the Hales did not bring Dixon to Milton.

"Would you rather she travelled alone?" he asked.

Both Dixon and Margaret turned to look at Thornton in surprise; both had completely forgotten about him. Dixon was stunned into silence and Margaret made her escape. She came into the drawing room and took a seat.

Dixon quickly recovered and sat down opposite Thornton. She fixed him with a cool stare. A gesture that Thornton reciprocated, although he did seem somewhat amused to be the subject of such intense scrutiny. Quite a character, he decided.

"You are a friend of Mr Hale?" Dixon interrogated.

"Yes."

"And what are you doing here in London, sir?"

"The Exhibition." And because he knew it would work, he added, "With my younger sister."

"Oh!" Any man who had a younger sister can be trusted, she supposed. But she needed to make sure.

"And where is your sister?"

"She was to accompany Miss Hale but she sprained her ankle this afternoon."

"Is it bad?" Dixon asked.

"I would not be here if it was."

"I see."

Then, after a moment, Dixon asked "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you," he said with a smile.

Dixon got up satisfied and went to the small kitchen.

Margaret wondered if Thornton knew that he had performed a miracle. Dixon did not approve of any man—especially, if that man happened to be anywhere near Margaret. Even Henry, who is always so self-assured, had been burned by Dixon when he had come to Helstone and he had carefully avoided her for the rest of his visit.

"That was… well done!" she had to say it.

"She clearly loves you," he said.

"Why else do you think I put up with that," she gestured to where the lecture had taken place.

Thornton smiled at her and she smiled back. They looked at each other and Margaret thought how utterly at ease he was sitting in this rather cramped room, having just charmed an old battle-axe, waiting for his tea. And for the first time, she allowed herself to wonder if she would have said yes if his proposal had not come on the heels of the riot and her ruined reputation. Would she have realised that she loved him without losing him first?

Margaret realised that he was looking at her with the same intense expression as before and she found her heart hammering wildly in response. And she realised how much she missed that as well. But Thornton suddenly looked away and she was brought back to cold reality.

"Dixon, do you need help?" Margaret stood up and went into the kitchen.

For the rest of the visit, Dixon and Margaret talked. Margaret told Dixon about Milton and her life there. Thornton noted that Margaret was careful in describing Milton; she had left out all the unpleasant details.

At the end of the visit, Thornton stood up and went out, knowing that the two needed to make their farewell in private. Two minutes later, Margaret emerged from the house, her face subdued and Dixon came to the door.

"It was very kind of you to bring Miss Margaret," Dixon said with a grateful smile.

"It was no trouble. Good bye, Dixon."

"Good bye," Margaret gave Dixon a final hug and quickly went down the stairs.

"God bless you, child!" Dixon called out, wiping away her tears.

Back in the carriage, Margaret was in a quiet mood.

"Thank you," she said to Thornton after sometime.

"No trouble," he repeated. "Why couldn't you come with your cousin or aunt?"

"Aunt Shaw and Dixon do not get along," Margaret smiled.

"And why is that?"

"Dixon always preferred my mother, even when my mother and Aunt Shaw were little girls, I am told. And when Dixon moved to Helstone, Aunt Shaw was very upset and she hasn't forgiven Dixon since. She couldn't believe that anyone would chose Helstone over London; she still turns her nose up at Helstone, if you can believe it."

He smiled, letting her continue.

"Helstone is…Helstone is the most beautiful place on Earth!"

Thornton raised an eyebrow at that.

"It is! I can't describe it; I can't put its charm into words. Helstone is like a village in a poem—in one of Tennyson's poems. You must go there. Then you will see for yourself how beautiful Helstone is—"

Margaret stopped when she noticed the subtle change in his expression. He looked pained when she said that. Of course, why would he go to Helstone; there was absolutely no reason for him to go there now.

It was so easy to slip back into their old friendship, but the memory of that day would always loom over them, blighting everything. Margaret wished she could undo some of the hurt she had caused him, but she herself had been so hurt that day, literally and in other every way.

They were about to reach her aunt's house.

"Thank you, again," she said. "Hope Fanny feels better by tomorrow."

"Oh, yes. I am sure she will be skipping in no time."

Margaret looked at him quizzically, but he just shook his head.

"So you return to Milton tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yes."

They had reached Aunt Shaw's house.

Margaret allowed Thornton to help her out; it seemed silly not to now. As she stepped down, the door to the house opened and Henry stood there.

Thornton looked to see what had caught Margaret' attention. He was still holding Margaret's hand and he saw that Henry had assessed the situation well. He knew that Henry was a suitor, one that her family openly favoured. As much as he did not want to leave Margaret with Henry, as much as he wanted to push her back into the carriage and take her away from this moment, he understood that he will have to leave Margaret to make this decision. Leave her and hope that she will come back to Milton.

"Good bye," he said and went back into the carriage and drove off, before his resolve failed him.

Margaret squared her shoulders and entered the house. Henry closed the door after her.

"I thought you had gone out with Miss Thornton," he said casually.

"I had, but she sprained her ankle and Mr Thornton was kind enough to take me to meet Dixon."

"You could have asked me."

"You don't like Dixon."

"That's true. But I would have taken you if it made you happy."

"Henry, please…" Margaret said, fearing a renewal of his proposal.

"Margaret, I waited all afternoon for you, while you were—" he said suddenly becoming angry.

"Henry!" Margaret said sharply, stopping him. Then a bit more kindly, "Please, don't ruin our friendship. I told you back in Helstone what I thought and my feelings haven't changed. I am sorry."

"Has it anything to do with…" he asked, not quite able to say Thornton's name.

Margaret refused to answer but her silence said it all.

"So Milton is home then?" he asked quietly.

He took his hat from the stand.

"Goodbye, Margaret," he said and went out.

Margaret stood in the hall, both drained and relieved that this awkward thing with Henry was finally over.

Was Milton home, she wondered.

She didn't know but for now, she couldn't wait to go back!


	23. Chapter 23

"We will walk," Andrew said the moment he saw Fanny step inside his office.

"Oh!" Fanny stood undecided on the doorstep when she saw that Mr Webster was not wearing his jacket and that his hair was all rumpled up. Andrew had been trying to make sense of some of the purchase orders and documents and had been sitting with his head in his hand, when she had entered. Andrew stood up and reached for his jacket.

"Oh," Fanny said again and immediately spun around to give him the needed privacy.

Andrew quickly put on his jacket, pushed back his hair, grabbed his hat and escorted Fanny out.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, when they were on the street.

"Uh?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

He waited for her to begin.

"Miss Thornton?" he prompted.

"Yes? Oh yes, right," she said, trying to remember what she had come to say. This is rather annoying, she thought. She never forgot anything. Well, she would have remembered what she had come to say, if only she had not just noticed that Mr Webster's hair always fell rather rakishly over his forehead.

"You need a haircut," Fanny blurted out.

Andrew stopped walking and regarded her closely.

"You came to tell me that?"

"No. But I just noticed that your hair fell …" Fanny swallowed. Then, she blushed.

Andrew smiled. He rather liked it when she blushed.

"I shall remedy that immediately," he said. "Is there anything else that you would like me to alter about my appearance," he asked in all earnestness.

Fanny looked at him in surprise but saw that his eyes were teasing her.

"No," she said with a bashful smile.

"Quite relieved to hear that," he said. "So what brings you here?"

"Oh, yes. Well, it's about John and Margaret. I think if they were to spend more time together then Margaret might change her mind. We know that she doesn't care for you or Mr Lennox—"

"Who is Mr Lennox?"

"He doesn't matter," Fanny dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "So that leaves only John."

"He is hardly the only man in Milton."

"He is the only one that matters."

"There is Perkins. He was most eager to be introduced to Miss Hale at the dinner. He is a nice—"

"No, no. It must be John and Margaret!" Fanny said in exasperation.

"Why?" Andrew said just to vex her.

"Because I say so," Fanny said stomping her foot.

"Very well then," Andrew said realising that he had teased her too far. She was pretty single-minded at the moment. He said a silent prayer for Miss Hale and Thornton.

"So what do you suggest?" he asked.

"I was thinking about how to get them to spend more time together."

"Thornton visits Mr Hale almost every day, I am sure—"

"No. They need to spend time _alone_," Fanny said decisively.

Andrew's eyebrows shot up. She couldn't possibly mean… he looked at her and saw from her perfectly innocent expression that _that_ is not what she meant. He knew that this entire conversation between them was dreadfully inappropriate as it is but he had a strong suspicion that Fanny was not going to give him much of a choice in the matter.

"What do you think is going to happen if they spend time… uh, alone?" he asked.

"Humm... now that I think about it, I am not sure it worked last time," she said.

_Heavens! There was a—_ "Last time?"

Fanny told him how she had got them to go together to meet Dixon. "But when John came back, he didn't look very happy. And he was awfully quiet on the train as well."

"I see. Maybe you should let things be," he said thoughtfully.

"No! I think they will be perfect. She even knows how John takes his tea!" Fanny said it as though that sealed the argument.

"Well, in _that_ case…" he looked at her and realised she hadn't even caught his sarcasm. She was in perfect seriousness. "Alright, what do you want to do?"

"We need to think of something else."

_We?_ When did he become a co-conspirator? He really didn't have time for this. And he better have the good sense to not make time for this. He had a pile of papers that he needed to sort out; he had a remorseful letter from his father asking him to come back unanswered; he needed to think about what he was going to do. What he didn't need to think about was what Thornton was going to do to him if he caught him meddling in his affairs, and along with his sister no less!

"Jealousy!" Fanny suddenly said with an absolutely devilish gleam in her eyes.

Andrew was brought back from his own thoughts. He thought about what she was suggesting.

"Perkins?" he asked uncertainly.

Fanny rolled her eyes.

Andrew thought some more.

"Miss Latimer?" he ventured.

"Exactly!"

He will pay for it, he was quite sure of that, but he couldn't resist the sparkle in Fanny's eyes. Besides, he _was_ intrigued and so he listened to her plan of campaign.

After almost an hour, Andrew returned to his office and looked at the stack of papers. He couldn't remember where he had left off or what notes he had made. All he could think of now was Miss Thornton and her absolutely, devilishly wicked mind!

* * *

Thornton had gone to Mr Hale's house every evening since he returned. Margaret was still in London. He had gathered from Fanny that she will be back after a few days. He hoped and prayed that she will be back. He couldn't even bring himself to contemplate what he would do if she accepted Henry. He had made his peace with loving her without much hope but somehow he had forgotten to consider that she might marry someone else. The thought cut through him like a knife.

He tried playing back in his mind how her manner had been towards Henry. They had appeared quite friendly, and even called each other by their first-name. And she had drawn him as well. But she had not seemed too pleased with his attentions and had been quick to dismiss any hint of an attachment.

But what did that signify? She hadn't objected to Thornton's attentions, except on the night of the party. But the very next morning, she had run out in front of a mob and saved him only to vehemently deny any feelings for him and reject him two hours later. He had presumed to know her heart once before and he had never been so mistaken in his life.

With these thoughts, he found himself once again on the familiar doorstep. He knocked and a minute later, Margaret opened the door.

For a moment, Thornton could do nothing but take in the fact that she was standing there—that she had come back. He didn't even know that he had been in some ways holding his breath ever since he left her with Henry and now he felt the air fill his lungs at the sight of her.

"You have come back," he said without thinking much about his words.

Margaret looked surprised at the statement. "Of course," she said with a bemused smile.

She may not have come back to him but she was back. And for now, that was enough for him.

Margaret had returned only an hour ago and she was telling her father about London and the Great Exhibition. Thornton had told Mr Hale about meeting Margaret but had not mentioned the unchaperoned visit to Dixon.

"Oh, I also visited Dixon," Margaret beamed.

"Mrs Shaw and Dixon are reconciled?" Mr Hale asked astounded.

"Oh no, Papa! That will never be," Margaret said with a laugh. "I had given up all hope of meeting Dixon, but—"

Margaret stopped when she realised that she will have to tell her father that it was Mr Thornton who took her to meet Dixon. Her father would no doubt figure out that she must have travelled alone with him. It was not the sort of thing she wanted to admit, especially after all the talk about her and Mr Thornton. But she didn't want to lie to her father either, and not just because the man in question was present in the room as well.

"Mr Thornton was kind enough to take me to meet Dixon. I was to go with Fanny but she suffered an injury and couldn't accompany me," Margaret said looking at her father, pleading him for understanding and hoping that he will not judge her harshly.

Mr Hale sat quietly, looking at his daughter. While he would like to see the two reconciled, there were limits to what a father ought to encourage. He did not want to say anything to her with Thornton present but the disapproval in his eyes could hardly be mistaken.

It did not seem fair to Thornton that Margaret alone should be censured. He had also displayed a complete lack of judgement in the entire matter. He had refused to accompany her when Fanny had tried her little trick hoping that the plan would be abandoned, but Fanny had been shrewd enough to send Margaret to him, knowing fully well that he would not be able to refuse her now. She had set a trap for him and he had willingly walked into it.

"Mr Hale, I am equally to blame. I did not think it wise for her to travel alone across London. But I hadn't thought about the unseeming situation that I would be placing Miss Hale in when I insisted that I accompany her," Thornton said.

Mr Hale knew that if he were to say anything more on the matter it would be tantamount to insulting Thornton by suggesting that he did not believe that his daughter was safe with him.

"Very well then," Mr Hale sighed. "No harm was done from your little adventure, I suppose, and you did get to meet Dixon. How is she?" Mr Hale said softening a bit.

"She is well," Margaret said and then got up. "I would like to rest now. I am tired."

It had not escaped her notice that Mr Thornton had come to her defense on the matter twice—first against Dixon and now against her father. But how could she be so foolish to repeat the very thing that had caused her and her father so much pain and embarrassment! Things had been so different when she had run into Mr Thornton in London; it had been so liberating to be away from judgemental eyes. But here in Milton, it felt as if things were right where she had left them.

Half an hour later, Mr Hale found his daughter in the kitchen.

"I thought you intended to rest," he asked.

He sat on the table next to his daughter. "Maggie, I know neither of you thought anything about it but you need to be a bit more careful about what people will say. Any of the neighbours could have seen you with him. Your family and friends cannot always protect you from unkind words."

"I see that now, Papa."

"And I appreciate that you told me the truth," he smiled. "I believe you were a lot braver than John. He had not told me about this visit. I believe he must have been afraid of my anger."

"I don't think I have ever seen you angry in my entire life," Margaret said responding to her father's attempt at the humour.

"I believe I was quite angry when you put ink in the teapot. Do you remember? Mr Lucas almost drank it!"

"That was Fred's idea! And it was Dixon who was angry! You were only worried about not having enough ink left."

At the mention of Fred's name, Mr Hale became silent.

"I wonder if we will ever see Fred again," he said after sometime. "My poor boy. I wish I could see him one last time before I die."

"Papa! Don't say such things!"

But both knew the inevitable was coming. Mr Hale was not a man of very strong constitution and the harsh climate and unclean air of Milton had started to show its effect on his health. That night when Margaret wrote to Fred, she told him about their father. She did not want Fred to put his life in danger and come to England. But Fred had made her promise that she would never hide anything from him. Fred would never forgive her if she was not honest with him about father.

The next day, Margaret visited Bessie. Bessie was just about holding on but she had some good news for Margaret. Nicholas had finally found Stephens and had convinced him to come back.

"He is in a bad way. But he is trying to start again. He is looking for work but it's hard to find anything that will pay enough to feed three mouths," Bessie told her.

"I think we may be able to help him."

A sudden, unexpected idea had come to Margaret and she ran back home to talk to her father.

"Papa!" she practically yelled as soon as she entered her house. "Papa! Are you in the drawing room? I have to ask you something—" Margaret ran up the stairs and into the drawing room. She immediately halted at the door when she saw her father was not alone. With his was Mr Thornton and another old gentleman.

The old gentleman immediately stood up.

"You know the last time I saw you, you were six years old running around Helstone with an eye-patch, pretending you were a pirate," he said coming forward.

"Mr Bell?" Margaret asked.

"Yes," he smiled and took her hand to bring her into the room. "Well Hale, I thought then that she would grow into a handsome young woman but this goddess I never imagined!"

Margaret was thoroughly embarrassed and didn't quite know what to say.

"Margaret will not understand your humour, Bell," Mr Hale said.

"Oh, no offense, my dear," Mr Bell said and seated her on a chair next to him.

"So what were you going to ask Hale?" Mr Bell asked. "Unless of course, it is a private matter."

"No, it is nothing private. But—" she looked hesitantly at Thornton.

Then deciding that it shouldn't matter, she addressed her father: "It is about Stephens. They have found him. He is looking for work but it won't pay enough and since he won't be taken back in any of the mills, I was thinking that he could move to Helstone. There were quite a few farms in the Walton estate and some of them may still be vacant. If you could write to them and enquire about it, I am sure Stephen will not refuse. Helstone will be ideal for the children. Clean air, sunshine, open fields—they will love it there."

"Do you always believe in giving people a second chance?" Thornton asked and instantly regretted his weakness in letting his emotions slip.

"I believe some people do deserve a second chance," she replied.

"I thought Stephens got his second chance when I did not file a police complaint," Thornton said steering the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Then think of it as a second chance for his children."

Mr Bell had been quick to notice how the two had completely forgotten that there were two other in the room besides themselves. He had also been quick to realise that there was a good deal more to what they were saying. He supposed it is only natural that these two gravitate towards each other.

"I think that's an excellent idea. I will write and see what can be done for Stephens," Mr Hale said.

"Thank you, Papa!"

But some strange devil in Mr Bell wanted to provoke the two and see what would come of it. "Well, Thornton, I always thought people came to the North for employment. But our Margaret is determined to do the opposite. Is the North such a terrible place?"

Mr Hale looked at his friend to see what he was up to.

"Miss Hale paints such a lovely picture of the South that everything else is bound to suffer in comparison," Thornton said looking at Margaret.

"I am not painting a picture. I am describing it as it really is," Margaret immediately defended herself. "I will admit that the South does have its faults. There is poverty there as well but I have seen more suffering in these mills than I have seen anywhere."

"Are we back to that?" Thornton asked.

But Margaret was not listening. She was thinking about Bessie with her brown lungs and her laboured breathing; she was thinking about all the little children who worked in the mills and who were at that very moment breathing in the cotton that will kill them in a few years. She remembered being stunned by the beauty of the cotton wisps dancing in the air when she had first entered the mill. She had not known then, had not imagined that those brilliant, white fluffs were death itself. Her eyes fell on the table on the book. "I believe I have seen Hell," she said in a low voice. "It is not some dark, foul place as Mr Milton describes it—it is white. It is snow-white."

Thornton stood up. Some things will never change, he realised. He was hardly going to argue, could hardly argue against that sort of impassioned eloquence. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Milton, Mr Bell. I must return to my mill. Good day."

Margaret felt the same feeling come over her as the day he had asked her, before he had left her without giving her the opportunity to explain herself. She stood up and quickly followed him out of the room, leaving her father and Mr Bell to think whatever they may.

"Mr Thornton, please!" Margaret called out. Thornton's hands were on the doorknob. He merely glanced over his shoulders.

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. When I spoke, I was not thinking about you or your mill. I know about the wheel that you have installed and what it does and how other mill owners would never consider it. The wheel is the reason Bessie joined your mill."

Thornton turned around to face her.

"And I know that you are a fair and honest master. Even Nicholas had conceded as much," she said attempting a wry smile.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he asked.

Why indeed. Because while she could not change her decision and while it is too late now to explain her decision, she wished they would try to put whatever had happened behind them. Because whether he wanted to or not, his visits to her father meant that they were going to be spending time in each other's company and she didn't want to mentally tip-toe around him all the time. And she didn't want him to misunderstand her anymore.

"Do you think that we can try to be friends?" Margaret asked.

Thornton saw an earnest desire in her eyes. How could she think that they could go back to any sort of friendship after what had happened between them, he wondered. But there was one thing Thornton was learning about himself and that was he could never say no to her.

"We can try," he sighed.

Margaret smiled at him, relieved. She put out her hand. He looked at her hand, remembering the last time he had taken it. He had been so full of hope that night. Now he didn't know whether to feel hopeful or crushed. He didn't just want her friendship. He wanted her love. He wanted her. But friendship was all she was offering him at the moment. And he accepted it.

Once again, he took her hand in his warm grasp, marvelling at its softness and surrendering himself to the heat that coursed through him at her touch.

After he left, Margaret looked at her hand with pounding heart. It felt all so similar, his touch could unravel her so easily.

How could she think that they could go back to any sort of friendship with what was still there between them, she wondered.


	24. Chapter 24

The brilliance of Fanny's idea was in its absolute simplicity. Fanny, of course, had not bothered to visit Ann after the day of the riot. But she didn't need to for her plan to work. She knew that John had gone to London on Mr Latimer's suggestion and that Mr Latimer was an investor in the mill so both the Thorntons and the Latimers were bound to see and meet each other.

After the success of John's London trip, Mr Latimer had invited the Thorntons to dinner. All Fanny needed to do was make sure that Margaret knew about it. Mr Webster had been impressed by the plan. But he had suggested that a subtle hint was all that was needed. Jealous was a dangerous thing to play with and he had no desire to upset Miss Hale needlessly. They didn't know what exactly had transpired and how things stood between the two. Taken too far, their little plan might have the exact opposite outcome.

Fanny had agreed and it was with that objective that she went to visit Margaret.

"I don't think John is going to come tomorrow," she mentioned casually.

"Oh, well, he is a busy man. I will tell Papa," Margaret said.

"We are having dinner at the Latimers' tomorrow," Fanny said, closely watching Margaret from the rim of her cup.

Margaret didn't say anything.

"You know that I don't like Ann, not after… But Mr Latimer and John are associates and I suppose John is obliged to maintain good relations with the family," Fanny explained.

Margaret again didn't say anything.

Fanny couldn't have chosen her words more carefully. Margaret knew that Mr Thornton never did anything out of obligation and if he chose to be friends with the "family" then it must be because he wanted to. After a moment, Margaret fixed a smile on her face and continued chatting with Fanny.

* * *

"It worked!" Fanny shouted gleefully as she entered Andrew's office. A few people sitting outside turned their heads.

Andrew picked up his hat and escorted her out. He meant to tell her to not visit him but Fanny hardly gave him the chance to speak a word.

"I told you! You should have seen her face! I was _very_ subtle as you suggested and it worked!" Fanny continued.

"That's good to hear," Andrew said.

"'Good to hear'? It was brilliant!" Fanny said, wondering why he was not as enthusiastic as her.

"Miss Thornton," Andrew said his voice becoming serious.

"Yes?"

This was not going to be easy. "I hope you will understand why I am saying this but you cannot visit me in the office."

"Then where should we meet?" Fanny asked.

"We shouldn't be meeting anywhere actually, except at gatherings. I believe that is the accepted way."

Fanny stopped walking and looked at him and Andrew saw realisation and disappointment in her face.

"I am sorry," he shrugged helplessly. "But I would not like to put you in a difficult situation."

She nodded and then said in a small voice, "You got a haircut."

He nodded and they both knew.

They walked back to the office in silence, both wondering what they were going to do.

* * *

Margaret too was wondering what she was going to do. When she asked Mr Thornton for friendship, she hadn't thought much beyond trying to resolve the awkward, uncomfortable situation between them. She hadn't thought much about where this friendship was going to lead. She wasn't sure what he thought about her now. While he had accepted her request for friendship, she had noticed that his manner was not the same as before. There was an unmistakable reserve and guardedness about him and she could hardly blame him for it. It was a bit too soon for them to slip into their old easy friendship but now it seemed there was an entirely different reason for his restraint.

That evening, Mr Thornton told her father that he will not be coming tomorrow and upon her father's inquiry explained about the dinner engagement. The talk naturally led to Mr Latimer's role but all Margaret heard was that he was going to spend the evening with Ann Latimer. That woman had all but destroyed her reputation and he was going to have dinner with her. Her! She was the reason why Margaret had rejected him, for God's sake! She felt angry and betrayed. She was angry that he could continue his life while hers was in such turmoil. People were still talking about her, maybe not with the same viciousness but the talk had not entirely died down. Mr Thornton's money and position shielded him from everything and he would still be the eligible bachelor that Bessie said he was, while Margaret would continue to be ridiculed for her ambition. But what hurt most of all was that he could so easily look for another person after professing his love for her so passionately. Admittedly, she had done a rather thorough job of pushing him away. But that did nothing to quell the blinding fury she was feeling.

She abruptly stood up and left the study, leaving both men to silently wonder about her uncharacteristic lack of manners. Margaret went straight upstairs and hurled the candle stand on her dresser across the room.

If Fanny had not matters of her own to worry over, she might have be delighted to know that her little plan was succeeding beyond her wildest dreams. The idea had been planted in Margaret's head and circumstances that even Fanny could not have engineered came about to strengthen Margaret's suspicions.

Margaret was talking a stroll with Mr Bell in the market when they ran into Thornton.

"Ah! Thornton! You look in a hurry," Mr Bell said.

"Yes. There is a meeting at the club," Thornton said, after tipping his hat to Margaret.

"All that boring talk about new financers and investors. Well, I am the lucky man here," he said squeezing Margaret's hand.

"Indeed," Thornton replied dryly.

"Oh, the Latimers are here as well," Mr Bell exclaimed. "What luck! Two of the prettiest girls in town."

Margaret and Ann looked at each other and barely nodded. Their coldness was not lost on Mr Bell.

"You two know each other?" Mr Bell asked.

"Hardly," Margaret said, before Ann had the time to open her mouth.

"Let's be on our way, Thornton. If we stay here any longer, Ann may find something of interest in the shop. The rate at which my little girl is buying, I may not have much left for her wedding," Mr Latimer said giving his daughter an affectionate pat on the cheek.

Ann took Thornton's arm and directed a nauseatingly sweet smile at Margaret. The three made their farewell and walked away.

Margaret fought down the bile that was rising within her. Mr Bell was still looking after Mr Thornton and Ann with a smile.

"Shall we be on our way," she asked trying to keep her voice pleasantly even. She knew that Mr Bell's sharp eyes will be on her next.

* * *

"How was your meeting, Mr Thornton?" Margaret asked him later that evening.

Thornton was somewhat surprised by the question and he thought he detected anger in her voice. But he himself was annoyed with her friendship with Mr Bell.

"The meeting was successful. And did you enjoy showing Mr Bell around Milton?" he asked.

"Mr Bell is not new to Milton. We were just taking a stroll," Margaret said, surprised at the annoyance that she caught in his voice. What bloody business was it his who she took a walk with!

Mr Hale stepped into the room at that moment and they both looked away from each other.

Katie brought in the tray and Margaret prepared the tea, fighting down the urge to hurl the cup at him. She handed him his cup with a sweet smile and sat down.

Thornton took a sip and nearly blanched—she had emptied the bloody sugar pot into his cup! Women were mad, he decided. He gulped down the tea and politely asked for another cup.

Insufferable man, Margaret decided. She went to make another cup and realised that there was no more sugar left in the pot. With clenched jaw, she handed him his tea as he liked it.

Cream. No sugar.


	25. Chapter 25

When Margaret thought about her behaviour later that night, she was horrified at her complete lack of control. Whatever childish satisfaction she had felt was now replaced with utter mortification. She couldn't even explain to herself what made her think that pouring all that sugar in his tea was an excellent idea. All she had accomplished was disgrace herself.

What has come over me, she asked herself. These last few days her mind had simply refused to function in a reasonable manner. The only emotion she that could recognise was anger—anger at Ann, anger at him and most of all anger at herself. She had all but handed over Mr Thornton to Ann. He had not renewed his suit. She had absolutely no right over him. And it is only natural for him to move on with his life. What ridiculous vanity to hold that against him. He was a logical man; he could see when something was hopeless and he had done what any sensible man would do. Except—

Except that some part of her protested against that conclusion. He was all those things—logical, sensible, practical—but deep in her heart, she knew that he was not the sort of man to fall in and out of love so easily. She had felt his anguish and hurt at her rejection and had felt it every day since. He simply wouldn't shrug off a broken heart. But what should she make of his continued friendship with the Latimers? She couldn't forget how he had allowed Ann to take his arm as though she had some sort of claim over him and then simply walked off with her. And again she felt the unreasoning anger and bitter disappointment return. But it was not like him to be inconsistent! And on and on the thoughts kept circling back and forth, her mind never settling into one conclusion for long.

However, Thornton, at that very moment, was sitting in his office feeling more himself than he had in a long time. Her little prank had unexpectedly snapped him out of the gloomy mood that he had been in ever since that fateful day. One moment he had been struggling against the all too familiar feelings of anger and jealous, he was certain that they were going to argue; but the very next moment, she had done something so surprising, so outrageous, so spontaneous that all those unhappy feelings had simply faded away. Her playful mischief had been like a spot of sunshine that warmed his heart. He had not loved her without gaining that instinctive knowledge of what it would be like to be loved by her—to spend his life with her. It would be a life full of surprises, humour, warmth, tantrums and passion. And in that moment, he had experience all of that. He felt happy after what felt like ages. This happiness was all the more precious, and maybe even baffling, because the situation between them had not changed one bit. On the way back, he had tried to make sense of Margaret's inexplicable behaviour. She was angry, that much was clear but about what? He had given it quite a bit of thought but came up with no satisfactory answer. He thought about asking her, but he was quite certain that she will not tell him. The pain of his rejection will eventually return and he was determined to treasure whatever little happiness he could and not overthink it.

His thoughts were interrupted when Andrew stepped into his office. Thornton looked at his pocket watch. It was nearly eight.

"I thought I might find you here," Andrew said.

"Is there a problem with those orders?" Thornton asked.

"No, I sorted that out," Andrew sat down.

Andrew looked at the open ledger and the quill on which the ink had dried a long time ago. Thornton wasn't getting much work done.

"Let's go out," Andrew said getting up.

"Alright," Thornton got his coat and they made their way to the club. Andrew, being the more loquacious of the two, would keep up a steady stream of stories and Thornton would supply the dry remarks. But tonight, Andrew was uncharacteristically quiet.

"I am resigning," Andrew said after some time.

Thornton gave him a long stare and leaned back in his chair.

"I was lucky you stayed on for this long," Thornton admitted. Andrew was way too smart to work under someone forever. "What do you plan to do?"

"Go back to Wiltshire."

"Wiltshire?" Andrew hated the place; he himself had said that he was not suited for a life of country idleness.

"For a few days. Father wants to meet me. Be reconciled."

"And what then?"

"I don't know."

Thornton pondered that. "If you decide to start something of your own, if you need capital, just ask."

"Your offer is appreciated but I will be able manage on my own."

"Very well."

"And what about you?"

"I may have to close the mill now that you are leaving," Thornton dead-panned.

"You certainly are in an improved mood," Andrew retorted. It seemed Fanny's plans were indeed working.

Thornton ignored the remark and took a sip of his scotch. After all the sugar he had drank this evening, his mouth stung at the bitterness. Andrew's leaving was rather unexpected and Thornton was sure he will never find anyone as competent as him. He wondered if there was more to Andrew's sudden departure. He certainly wasn't acting like himself.

The next day, Margaret decided to maintain as much poise as she could summon in his presence. She didn't want to contemplate what he must have thought of her behaviour. He had looked thoroughly annoyed, but then immediately after he had acted as though everything was fine. She wished she had the same composure as him.

That evening when she handed him his cup she was determined to not look at him. But she did. She found him regarding her with quiet amusement, his eyes full of laughter and her breath nearly stopped at how handsome he looked. She couldn't help a small bashful smile in return. It would be their little secret. Right there under the eyes of her father, she would hand him his cup and they both would think back to that silly moment and smile.

She sat back in her chair happy for the amusement she afforded him. She had given him so little in all the time she had known him. She could not turn back time and take away the pain she caused him, but she could at least give him something to smile about, even if it was at her expense. And for the moment, she forgot all about Ann.

She didn't get much time to think about Ann or anyone for the next few days. Bessie's condition was deteriorating and Margaret started spending more and more time with her, trying to comfort her friend. Mr Hale had written to the Lucas in Helstone about the farm and had been informed that one of the farms was available. It was not a big farm but it had a small cottage on it. And if the family can come quickly, the matter can be arranged easily.

Margaret immediately went to tell Bessie and Nicholas about the good news. Nicholas agreed to talk to Stephens about it. For the rest of the evening, Margaret tried her best to make Bessie comfortable. She made her tea, got her water, helped her through her coughs and told her silly stories about London to distract her. But Bessie was fading away before her eyes. She returned home weary. She intended to tell Katie to take the next few days off and stay at home to care for her sister. She had taken off her bonnet and was trying to re-securing some of her hair which had come loose when Mr Thornton climbed down the stairs. She had been late and had missed his visit.

"You were out," he asked, quickly taking in the worry and exhaustion written on her face.

"To see Bessie," she said.

"How is she?" he asked kindly.

She shook her head. She had known that Bessie was dying, even before she became friends with her but that did nothing to take away the sadness she felt.

"You need to sit down," he stated and gently guided her into the study.

She took a chair, relieved and thankful for his kindness.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"There is nothing to be done."

Thornton looked at her carefully. She looked so small sitting in her father's large chair. Her eyes looked tired; some of her hair had escaped and was falling around her face. He wanted to comfort her. He wished he could do something to take away the awful look from her face.

"What about Stephens?" he asked.

"There is a farm available. Nicholas will talk to him. I am sure he will agree," she said looking at her hands.

"What if he doesn't?" Thornton wasn't so sure that Stephens will be that amenable to the plan.

"Then I will make him," she said looking up stubbornly, pushing back the hair from her face. "I won't let those children anywhere near a mill."

Thornton realised that a good way to distract her was to draw her into a discussion about her favourite topic.

"And what about the other children working in mills? Do you plan to send them all to Helstone?" he asked, but not unkindly. "There will always be other children to take their place."

"I don't understand how anyone can let children work in mills, where they might become ill, get hurt."

"The parents need the children to earn. It's either work in a mill or starve."

"But does it have to be a mill? What if the mills stopped hiring children?" she asked.

"That's not going to happen. Children are important to the working of mills. Only they can crawl under the machines and sweep out the cotton. Besides, they are cheap labour."

"But it is not right, don't you see it?" she asked in frustration.

"Right or wrong has nothing to do with it, I am afraid."

"How can it not have anything to do with it?" That any enterprise could be conducted without any regard for moral duty or the suffering of innocent children seemed almost monstrous to her.

"If it will ease your mind, children under the age of nine are not allowed to work in mills."

"But young children are still working in mills," Margaret said. She knew that a few of Bessie's neighbours did send their young children.

"Yes. The parliament has to see to the implementation of the law as well. Mill owners often bribe the factory inspectors."

Seeing the look on Margaret's face, he guessed her next question. "Marlborough Mill is perfectly law-abiding, I assure you. The inspectors are welcome anytime."

"Do you think there will be a law to stop children from working in mills altogether?"

"You would like the law to interfere with free labour?" he asked surprised.

"Is that what it is called—free labour? If free labour means children, then yes. I want the law to interfere."

"Remind me to never introduce you to any parliamentarian," he said with a smile. "You would argue so passionately and so admirably that they might actually pass a law. Where will my mill be then?"

"You overstate my abilities. I couldn't even convince you," she said with a quiet smile.

"You think I am easier to convince than a parliamentarian?" he quipped.

"But you installed a wheel when others won't," she pointed out.

"Only because it made good business sense. If the air in the mill is clean, my workers will stay healthy, they will work for me longer and their children will work for me. My workers will be experienced and more productive."

"Yes, but it helps the workers as well."

"That's incidental."

"But it proves that both good business sense and moral duty can go together."

"Moral duty was the farthest thing from my mind when I—"

"Mr Thornton," she interrupted softly. "You should just agree with me on this point before I decide that you are indeed a very difficult person to convince."

He gave up with a smile. He wondered how many women in his acquaintance would care about such matters. He was quite sure that if she managed to find out more about the debates and voting in the parliament on the Factory Act, she would likely come up a very spirited and compelling argument to stop children from working. He wouldn't support her position but it would be interesting to hear it nonetheless. He suddenly remembered something he had wanted to ask her.

"At the Exhibition, why did you think that I did not believe the loom design was efficient?"

That was an unexpected question.

"I just knew," she said with a small shrug, unable to give a definite answer. When he had described the loom to her, he had not sounded the way he had when he had told her about the Nottingham lace. "I suppose you didn't sound _convinced_," she added teasingly.

His heart caught and clenched at the same time. She had such an instinctive knowledge of him and yet, she wouldn't see what was so obvious.

"I should leave," he said getting up.

She was disappointed that he had to leave. It felt so good to sit and talk to him. She got up and followed him out.

"You should get some rest," he said, when he reached the door. He saw that an errant lock had once again slipped out and was resting on her forehead. Without thinking, he reached out and gently brushed it back in place.

Her eyes widened in surprise and Thornton realised what he was doing. He removed his hand from her hair.

"Good night," he said and left without making any apology.

Her heart soared at his tenderness and touch. But had it just been old habit or did he still care, she wondered.


	26. Chapter 26

The next morning, Margaret asked Katie to go home to care for Bessie. After seeing to the household in Katie's absence and giving instructions to the cook, Margaret hurried to Princeton. Katie opened the door.

"How is …" Margaret stopped when she saw Katie's tear-stained face.

"Oh miss…"

Margaret entered the house and slowly approached the bed where she had left Bessie yesterday. Bessie's face wore a serene expression. She looked like she was sleeping except that the rise and fall of her chest had stilled. Margaret and Katie stood quietly; grief had rendered them immobile.

The door opened and Nicholas entered the house. He immediately sensed the sad silence and walked to the side of the bed. He gently touched his daughter's hand and gasped when he felt her cold skin.

"Where yo' with her?" he asked Katie.

Katie shook her head. "I had gone out for some bread."

"I am sure it was peaceful. Look at her face, Nicholas. There is no more pain," Margaret said.

"She's not supposed to go before me. It doesn't make sense. It's not the natural way," he said almost to himself. Then, shaking his head, he asked Katie, "Are yo' sure she is dead? She is not in a faint? This has happened before."

"No, Nicholas. She is gone," Margaret said, trying to keep her voice from breaking.

Nicholas sat down heavily on the bed and broke down sobbing. He gathered his dead daughter in his arms and finally let the tears, which he had been holding back for so long, flow freely.

The funeral was a small one. Stephens and the children were present. Margaret had been surprised when Mr Bell offered to go with her and Mr Hale. Nicholas told her that Stephens had agreed to go to Helstone. Stephens hadn't said a word to Margaret during the funeral, he kept his eyes firmly on the ground. After the funeral, Margaret spoke to the children, while he stood aside. But as she turned to leave, he came to her.

"Miss? Can I …"

Understanding his hesitation, Margaret walked to him and they stood a little aside from the rest of the group.

"I didn't mean to hurt you that day," he said quietly.

"I know that," she said.

He nodded his head. He was twisting his hat in hands struggling to get the words out.

"When are you leaving for Helstone?" Margaret asked.

"Tomorrow."

He finally lifted his head. His heart torn between pride and gratitude. "You are a kind lady. I will pray to God for you and Mr Hale. I will pray every day for a chance to repay your kindness. In any small way I can, miss."

Margaret understood that it must not have been easy for him to accept this help and she didn't wish to prolong what must surely be a difficult conversation for him. "Good bye, Stephens," she said and offered her hand.

He shook her hand and went away with his children. After making their farewells to the Higgins family, Mr Hale went to the school while Mr Bell escorted Margaret home.

"I didn't realise that you had formed such a close friendship with them," Mr Bell remarked.

"Why is it so hard to believe?" Margaret wondered.

"I imagine anyone who knows you won't find it hard to believe. And I am only just getting to know you, my dear," Mr Bell replied.

Bell thought about the things that he had found out about his goddaughter. Her humanitarian tendencies were quite strong, no doubt nurtured by the role she played as the clergymen's daughter. But this was more than just a well-bred lady's interest in charity. She genuinely cared; she probably would never be satisfied with rescuing just one family. If anything, it will encourage her to do more for others. Which meant that she will most likely find herself in opposition to the way of things and thinking in Milton.

"You are in deep thought," Margaret remarked.

"I wonder why is it so hard to believe," Mr Bell teased.

Margaret smiled.

God, she was a beauty. No wonder Thornton was so smitten.

"Does Thornton visit Hale often?" Bell asked.

"I thought you knew. He comes to read with Papa."

"Really?"

Margaret didn't say anything. Like her father, she had long guessed that Mr Thornton didn't just come to read. The conversations between her father and Mr Thornton were those between equals. Sometimes it was not clear who was educating whom. But both men had their area of expertise and strong views and both enjoyed each other's company immensely. Their friendship despite the difference in their age made it all the more endearing.

"I didn't think a fellow like Thornton would be interested in the Classic," Mr Bell said, his tone deliberately patronising.

"I didn't think an academician like yourself would be interested in business," Margaret retorted and immediately froze when she realised that in defending Mr Thornton she had almost insulted Mr Bell.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Offend me? Hardly," he smiled. "Does Thornton know how lucky he is?" Mr Bell continued smoothly.

"Mr Bell, please I would rather not…"

"Come now, my dear. Must we pretend?" he asked kindly.

But Margaret kept her head down, the agitation and embarrassment clear on her face. It alarmed her how easily Mr Bell had discovered her secret. Mr Bell was her godparent and an old friend of her father's but she hardly knew him. She could not possibly talk to him about such matters.

Bell saw that it would be unwise to push Margaret for more information right now. So he did what he did best—he tried to solve the problem by thinking about it. He went through all the possible reasons why Margaret may have rejected Thornton. That she rejected him was something he was absolutely certain of. The conversation about second chances had made that point quite clear. Hale can't be blind to what is going on and if he allowed Thornton to visit even after the rejection then he must be hoping for some sort of reconciliation between the two.

But what would make Margaret reject a man she loved? Something must have happened that made her overrule her heart. The disparity in their situation? He supposed it might be a factor, especially if Margaret thought that Miss Latimer was vying for his attention as well. He had not missed the look on her face when they had run into Thornton and Miss Latimer. Margaret was a proud girl and she would not countenance any insinuation about her trying to aspire for more. This was Milton after all; while the Hales may elsewhere be considered equal, if not superior, to the Thorntons, here in the North, they were of little consequence and the daughter of a schoolteacher marrying a powerful mill owner would certainly raise more than a few eyebrows. He still needed to know the specifics to satisfy his mind; he decided to talk to Hale about it. But he believed in its essence, the matter most likely came down to the difference in their position.

Over breakfast, Thornton told his mother that he planned to go to the office in the city later in the day. He needed to go over some papers before Andrew left. Fanny, who had been at the breakfast table, went absolutely still when she heard that.

For the past few days, Fanny had been thinking about nothing but Mr Webster. She now understood why she had thought of jealousy as the best way to bring Margaret and John together. Because she herself had been jealous about Mr Webster's attentions towards Margaret. When Ann had suggested an attachment between them, she had resisted it for as long as she could. Had she not liked Margaret, she probably would have been quite miserable. She remembered the absolute relief and joy she felt when Mr Webster had told her that he did not care for Margaret. She wished they had said something more the last time they had met but she had been so startled by what she felt for him that she couldn't think of anything. She desperately wanted to meet him and see him, but he had said that it would not seem proper for her to visit him. But they needed to talk and now John was saying that Mr Webster planned to leave! How could he! How could he be so cruel!

"How dare you!" Fanny threw open the door to the office and slammed it shut.

Andrew looked up. He couldn't decide if he was relieved or alarmed. He had been expecting this visit. But he had not been prepared to see the anger and hurt on Fanny's face. His eyes went to the closed door but he couldn't possibly have this conversation with her on the street either. Hang propriety, he decided.

"Miss Thornton—"

"Don't Miss Thornton me! What do you mean by leaving? How can you when… when…"

"It's the right thing."

"The right thing?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes. It could hardly have escaped your notice that you are the sister of one of the wealthiest men in Milton and I am his employee," Andrew said, wishing she would stop walking towards him.

"So?" Fanny said circling around the desk.

"So? What do you imagine Thornton is going to say or Mrs Thornton, for that matter," he pointed out.

"And what about me?" she practically shouted. "You thought about everyone else but how could you not have thought about me?

"I was thinking about you when I decided to leave," he said, trying to keep calm. Fanny was now standing in front of him and was looking at him, not quite getting his meaning.

"I cannot ask you to leave behind the comfort and the life that you are used to and ask you to—"

"How _dare_ you?" Fanny said when she understood what he was trying to say. How dare he think that she would put money and comfort over love! How dare he think that she was some spoiled rich miss! How dare he insult her like that! She raised her hand to strike him, but Andrew caught it.

"Do you think I don't know that Watson has been sweet on you all these months? You are expected to marry someone of your—"

"How can you even say that!" Fanny cried out. "Let me go! I was a fool to think that you cared for me, that you felt the same way—".

Andrew had been waiting to hear just that. "I do! I do care for you," he said quickly, relieved.

"No, you don't!" she said, tears threatening to run down her face.

"Fanny, I do!"

"No, no!" she was shaking her head, not hearing him.

"Listen to me, I do care for you," he said, pulling her closer. "I love you."

"You have a wonderful way of showing it," she said still angry.

"I am sorry but believe me I needed to know if you loved me as much as I did. That it was not some passing fancy. That you loved me enough to wait for me," he explained.

"Couldn't you have just asked?" she asked.

"And miss all this?" he couldn't stop from grinning.

"You—" Fanny raised her other hand but Andrew caught that as well.

"What do you mean wait for you? Where are you going?" Fanny asked.

"Will you promise to not strike me?" he asked.

Fanny was still glaring at him so Andrew thought it wise to not yet release her hands.

"Wiltshire," he said.

"What—"

"But I will be back."

"And then?"

"I do have something planned."

"How long will it take?"

They had just professed their love for each other and all she can think of is ask him questions. Lord, she was exactly like her brother—all business!

"A few months, I believe," he replied.

"How do you know a few months won't turn into a year?"

"Because I don't think I will be able to wait that long to do this," Andrew released her hands and captured her lips with his.

That obviously seemed to stop her questions. When he lifted his head, she looked at him a little dazed, a little out of breath and entirely happy. Which made him want to kiss her again and which he, of course, did.

"Fanny, you should leave now," he finally said. He didn't want to let her go but he was all too aware of what was at stake. He gently steered her towards the door.

"But must you leave?" Fanny suddenly asked.

Maybe one more kiss ought to do the trick.

"You know I don't care about money or status but—" Fanny began.

"No, Fanny, I know you don't and I adore you for not caring but you must allow me to do this. I want to give you everything you deserve and more. You may not want it but I want to be able to give you that. Please," he entreated.

She nodded. He gave her a quick final kiss before opening the door to see her out. Fanny froze on the door step. Thornton was in the outer chamber. He stood there looking at them; his eyes taking in everything, missing nothing.

After what seemed like an eternity, Thornton spoke. His expression and voice was perfectly normal and all the more terrifying for it.

"Go home, Fanny" he commanded.

Fanny looked at Andrew.

"Please, go," Andrew said, trying to reassure her with his voice.

Fanny left the office, not meeting her brother's eyes and for the first time genuinely afraid of him. Once Fanny had left, Thornton walked into the office and closed the door. He waited for Andrew to explain.

"Miss Thornton and I care for each other," Andrew said.

"And?"

"I have asked her to wait."

"Excuse me?"

"You know I am leaving. I am not—"

"Ready? You should have thought about it before compromising her reputation so thoroughly. How many people do you think must have seen her enter this office? How many people do you think must have seen that closed door?"

"I intend to marry her, for God's sake!"

"And you will!"

"But not now!"

"You will marry her now or never."

"Thornton! I am a man of honour."

"Not at the moment."

"I want to give her everything she deserves. Do you not want that for her?"

"I hardly have much choice in the matter now."

"All I am asking for is time. A few months!"

"And do you know what can happen in a few months? After what you have done, even a long engagement and especially with you gone, will not be enough to keep tongues from wagging. So if you care for her, you will do this."

"I care for her and that's why I must say no." Andrew refused to be bullied into a marriage. Even a marriage that he desperately wanted. He didn't care about Fanny's reputation, because he _was_ going to marry her. He had hoped that at least Thornton would understand him; instead he found himself trying to reason with a brother who refused to see anything beyond his sister's reputation.

Thornton shook with rage. How long has this been going on? Fanny had always been foolish and reckless but Andrew! Her claimed to love her but wouldn't care about her reputation. While he would go back to Wiltshire to build his fortune, Fanny would be… Thornton didn't even want to imagine what people were going to say about her. He prayed to God that nobody had seen them—but it was a vain hope. Thornton took a deep breath and regarded Andrew, giving him time to reconsider. But Andrew stood there, bullishly stubborn.

"So that's your final decision?" he asked.

"Thornton, don't make it out like that," Andrew said.

Very well, then. He had protected Margaret from the worst of the gossip, he could bloody well protect his sister. Thornton headed for the door.

"You will leave now and you will not go anywhere near Fanny or I will not be responsible for my actions," with that Thornton went out.

Andrew stood for a long time staring at the door. What it is about love that made one act and behave so completely unlike oneself, he wondered. Had it been about something else, someone else, he would have argued and argued and argued till Thornton gave up. Instead he stood feeling exactly as he had when he had argued with his father all those years ago. But his father now wanted to be reconciled, didn't he? And while it would be futile to reason with Thornton now, he had to see reason. Somebody _must_ make him see reason and Andrew had a very good idea who that person might be.


	27. Chapter 27

Fanny did not go home as Thornton had asked her. She couldn't face her mother when her emotions were so plainly written on her face, so she went straight to Margaret. She told Margaret everything that happened.

"I wish we had been caught by someone else!" Fanny said pacing the room restlessly. "Then the matter would be easily settled."

"Don't say that! You don't mean it," Margaret admonished. Nobody knew better than Margaret what it feels like to have people talk about you.

Fanny sat next to Margaret, nervously twisting her fingers.

"Margaret, please tell me that everything will be alright," Fanny said in a frightened voice.

Margaret held Fanny's hand but she knew with absolute certainty that things will not be alright. Mr Thornton will insist on a quick marriage and Mr Webster will refuse. Mr Thornton could hardly do otherwise and neither could Mr Webster and neither would understand each other's reasons. It would be very much like what had happened between her and Mr Thornton.

She looked at Fanny. Fanny, who had been such a steadfast friend to her, who had always made her laugh, was looking so hopeless and unsure—she was frightened for her future. Of all the people she knew in Milton, Fanny was the one that Margaret had been sure would have nothing to worry about. Margaret had been a bit jealous of how carefree Fanny's life was. But now Fanny had gone ahead and fallen in love with Mr Webster; a man her family and Milton will not consider her equal. And nobody will feel it more acutely than him.

Margaret tried to remember what Mr Webster had told her about his family on the night of the dinner party. She had been so preoccupied and distracted that she had not paid much attention to what he was telling her. His father was a country squire and an influential one, if she remembered correctly. He had an elder brother and what else… Margaret tried to recall, but couldn't. He was estranged from his father, that she knew, but now he was going back. Did that mean that the father and son had forgiven each other? But did any of this matter here in Milton? Mr Webster was on his own here, with no family or friend to depend on. And Margaret realised what she must do. She will do for Mr Webster what she would do had it been Fred. She will talk to Mr Thornton and make him see reason.

That evening Margaret was not surprised when instead of Mr Thornton a note arrived from him for her father. He explained that something unexpected had come up and he would not be able to visit. Margaret didn't mind his absence as it gave her the time to plan and think about what she was going to say to him.

The dinner at the Thorntons that night was a quiet affair. Fanny knew that she will have to come down and sit through it. If she didn't, then mother will come up to her room to inquire and then all will be out. Surprisingly, John had not yet told their mother about Andrew. Fanny had waited for John to talk to her but that had not happened either. He hadn't said a word to her or even bothered to look at her during the dinner. Fanny had gathered every ounce of her courage to bid him good night and all he had done was barely nod. As she walked back to her room, Fanny understood that all her worst fears had come true.

Thornton retired to his study after dinner. He thought about the options available to him. He will have to tell mother before she heard it from someone else. Mother was going to be furious. He himself could still not believe that Fanny would be so reckless to be in a closed room with a man and in a public office. Anyone could have walked in on them! It had been around lunch time; how many people would have come to the building, he wondered. Not many, if he was lucky. But did it matter? It had taken one Miss Latimer to destroy Margaret's reputation. But he also knew there was a world of difference between Margaret and Fanny. Margaret had no one to speak up for her. She had been entirely vulnerable, open to all sorts of ugly insinuations because she was of no significance. Nobody would gain anything by maintaining good relations with the Hales and so her reputation had been carelessly sacrificed. It was only after he had started visiting Mr Hale and Fanny had resumed her friendship that people had stopped talking.

But unlike Margaret, Fanny was a Thornton and that name meant a good deal in Milton. Thornton had never used his position and power for any professional or personal gain, and he found that he may not even have to use it to protect his sister. He knew that people would simply think twice before talking about Fanny, not unless they wanted to make enemies with the Magistrate. Their mother was a respected and highly regarded figure in Milton society and that would shield Fanny as well. People wouldn't be so easy to believe or openly repeat whatever whispers reached their ears. Except—

Except Andrew's departure will confirm everything. People will assume that Thornton had dismissed him and the reason wouldn't be very hard to guess. A marriage would have taken care of everything; people would overlook an indiscretion by a young couple as long as it quickly ended in matrimony. But that was not going to happen now. Thornton will have to stand by his sister and see the storm through.

The next day when Thornton showed up, Margaret tried to read his mood. As usual, he gave away nothing much. He was cool and composed throughout although he did not speak much. Margaret had received a note from Fanny telling her that her brother had not spoken with her at all. Margaret was afraid that Fanny might simply decide to take matters into her own hands and make everything even worse. At the end of the hour when he rose to leave, Margaret stood up with him. Lately, she had taken it upon herself to see him out.

"Mr Thornton, can I please have a word," Margaret asked when they descended the stairs.

He turned around and regarded her. "Is it about Fanny?" he asked.

She nodded. "Please," she said indicating the study.

Margaret knew that this conversation between them would quickly escalate into an argument and she was determined to not let that happen. She knew that Mr Thornton was not unreasonable and if she could make him see Mr Webster's point of view, he would give Mr Webster a chance. Her father was upstairs in the drawing room and in a few minutes, he would retire to his room. But Mr Thornton did not know that and she was glad of it because that would mean he will be forced to keep his temper in check and be forced to hear her out.

"Did she ask you to speak with me?" he frowned, still not entering the study.

"No, but she did tell me what happened," Margaret said and walked into the study. Thornton watched her as she stood inside the room, waiting for him.

Thornton took a deep breath and went inside. When he entered, Margaret went to the door and closed it but not all the way. She left it a bit ajar. Thornton was surprised at her boldness but he understood that she was trying to create as much privacy as propriety would allow so that they could discuss the matter freely.

"You might as well close it completely," he dared her.

The moment she had requested him for this interview, Thornton knew what side she was going to take in the matter. It would undoubtedly be in opposition to his. He had already made up his mind and did not care to have it challenged and especially, by Margaret. The irony and the reversal in situation was not lost on him. But Thornton was also aware of the power she had over him. It was something that astonished and alarmed him in equal measure. She only had to ask and he would do it. He merely argued for the record. But not this time, he decided. This was different. This was not about him. This was about his sister and he was not going to allow himself to be persuaded by a woman who had cruelly disregarded his feelings under similar circumstances. He needed an upper hand in this conversation and so he had tossed out the dare to unsettle her.

Margaret was taken aback by his remark. She had expected his resistance but not this soon.

"Have you already decided that we are going to argue? I haven't even begun," she recovered smoothly with a smile.

Thornton stared at her. She had obviously thought this through. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought that the smile had been thrown in to disarm him. Maybe it was for the better that she had no idea of the hold she had over him. He needed some semblance of self-possession and composure around her.

The room was not dark, but as it was not in use, it was not entirely lit either. The light from the hall fell on the carpet as a thin line between them—marking out the boundary line and for Thornton, a threshold he would do well not to cross. He remembered how his hand had simply moved of their volition to brush back her hair, to touch her. And that was on a brightly lit doorstep. But she still stood smiling at him in that beguiling way of hers, without a clue in the world as to how he felt just being alone with her—a closed or half-closed door made no difference to him.

"Then I suggest you begin right away. It's quite late," he quipped facetiously.

Margaret understood that he was not going to make this easy for her. Mr Thornton never made anything easy. She decided to ignore his tone. She was going to stay calm. She was going to get this right.

"I do not want to intervene in what is a family matter but I believe I must speak up on behalf of Mr Webster," she began.

Thornton continued peering down at her, his face impassive, so she continued. "Am I correct in assuming that you have refused him Fanny's hand," she asked.

"I have not refused him anything. He refused to marry her."

"That cannot be true. I believe he needs some time."

"And what will happen to Fanny in that time?" he asked.

"I understand you are concerned about what people will say but they were not as indiscreet as you fear." No matter how many times she had practiced these lines in her head, she couldn't help turn crimson talking about such matters and with Mr Thornton of all people. "Fanny told me that that was the only time they were alone together."

"I suppose I should be relieved to hear that," he bit out.

"It is not my intention to make light of this, but what is done is done. I truly do not believe that their actions would lead to any serious harm to Fanny's reputation." Margaret knew that compared to her actions on the day of the riot, a few stolen moments between young lovers with no direct witness was probably not bound to attract much notice. Of course, a brother was not likely to view it as such.

"Whatever you fear for Fanny is not the worst thing that can happen to her," Margaret said.

"You are right. The worst thing that can happen to her is to be left behind by the man who claims to love her. Andrew is leaving her behind to face the consequences of their actions alone. Are you going to defend that now?"

"It is not for me to defend his actions. Whatever was decided, it was decided between them. Fanny is willing to let him go for now and she is willing to wait for him," she reasoned.

"Do you truly believe she understands what she is agreeing to in waiting for him?" he asked.

Margaret remained silent; she remembered how Fanny had wished that they had been caught.

"Then you will understand why I refused him," Thornton said correctly interpreting her silence.

"But they care for each other. How can you overlook that?" she appealed.

The truth was Thornton had been trying very hard to overlook just that. He did not doubt that they truly cared for each other. When he had found them, he had seen how they had looked. He had never seen two people so utterly and perfectly in love with each other—which only made Andrew's decision all the more baffling and infuriating. It was one of the reasons why Thornton had not spoken to Fanny last night. Unlike him, Fanny had never been able to hide her emotions and Thornton didn't think he would be able to see the heartbreak in her eyes once he told her about the conversation between him and Andrew.

"I would never force a loveless marriage on my sister," Thornton said quietly. "I have no objections to Andrew. You may find it hard to believe, but he is exactly the sort of man I would have liked for Fanny. But what I cannot overlook is his utter disregard for her reputation, even if she is willing to. And what I _absolutely_ cannot overlook is that he claims to love her but will not let that guide his decision."

"But don't you see, love alone cannot guide his decision," she said.

Thornton looked at her, his brows gathered together trying to understand her.

"Do you think he will be happy in a marriage where he had to sacrifice his pride?" Margaret explained.

Of course, Thornton realised, it would always be about pride with her. "I am trying to think of ways to undo the damage that he has done so forgive me if I do not care for his pride," Thornton rebuffed.

"But how can you say that? You, who are so proud yourself. You, who told me how proud Milton men are. How can _you_ not let him have his pride?" Margaret countered.

"Because unlike _you_ I do not place pride above love!" he spat out at her as all the resentment and anger at her rejection came rushing back in an instant.

Margaret flinched. She was shocked that he still felt so much bitterness about that day, that so much bitterness had been simmering below the surface of his friendship and civility and how quickly it had erupted. Margaret had feared that this discussion might reopen old wounds. She had tried her best to steer clear of it. She did not want this conversation to become about that conversation.

Thornton did not want a repeat of that conversation either. Her words were painful enough the first time. He did not want to be reminded that his love had meant so little to her. He was angry at her for stirring up all those emotions and he was angry with himself for his lack of control. He was surprised to find Margaret look so stricken. What has she to be so upset about, he thought furiously. Did she really think she could provoke him and not expect to be burned? Why did he even allow himself to be led into this conversation? He should have known exactly how it would end. He had no time to wallow in his own misery. He had had a sister to take care of. He looked away from Margaret and headed for the door.

Margaret had tried desperately hard to not let this conversation become a full-blown argument. It took everything she had to rein in her temper but now he was once again walking away after lashing out at her, still determined to think the worst of her.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she made for the door. She reached it a mere second before him and closed it shut. She turned around with a determined glare, only to find him standing inches away from her. She instinctively pushed herself back against the door to increase the space between them, both her hands wrapped around the door knob behind her for support.

In all the scenarios Margaret had played out in her head about this meeting, in none of them had she imagine that she would have to lock him in a room just to make him hear her out. And now that she had done it, she wasn't sure who had trapped whom because Mr Thornton still hadn't moved from his spot, while she was pressed back against the door.

Thornton could not move even if he wanted to. And the damned thing was he did not want to. His anger and his momentary shock at her actions had been replaced by a throbbing awareness of her nearness. Everything about this moment was forbidden and all the more tempting for it. The thin sliver of light from the hall was now gone; the boundary line, the threshold had well and truly been crossed. It was enough to make him forget everything. He had ached for her for so long; the more he had kept away from her, the more he wanted her and now she was standing so tantalisingly close to him. He knew if he leaned toward her slightly, he would eliminate all the space between them. And if he leaned a bit more, they would be so close their breaths would mingle. And if he leaned in just a bit more, his lips would be on hers and he knew he would never be able to pull back. He would never be able to stop. Not for anything in the world.

But a small voice in the back of his head was quietly urging him to step away. He had tried to ignore it for as long as he could but with each passing second, the voice had become stronger. Temptation is in the heart of the tempted, Thornton had read somewhere. He realised that whatever temporary insanity had made her lock herself in a room with him, it was not with the intention of putting herself in such a vulnerable position. She _really_ wanted to talk this out with him. And Thornton found that even though the temptation was enormous and even though every nerve of his body screamed back in protest, he loved her too much to take advantage of her in this situation.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath and then, he took a step back. And then another, just for good measure.

He could see the relief wash over her. Her shoulders and arms which were stiff with tension, now slumped softly.

"You can open the door and I promise I will not attempt to… flee" he said, trying to find some humour in the situation. This was after all the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to him. The second most bizarre thing was when she had nearly tried to kill him with sweetness.

Margaret did not think she could blush anymore given that her face was already a flaming red. But she somehow did. She had been trying very hard to ignore the panic that was rising in her heart as the full audacity of her actions started becoming clear to her. And she had been trying very hard to ignore how light-headed she felt standing this close to him. She had been grabbing the door knob so hard that she was sure that her knuckles must have gone completely white by now. She knew with perfect certainty that if he moved one inch towards her, she would be totally powerless and whatever little shred of sanity she possessed would be lost. And as much as she wanted it, she did not want it. Not when she could not accept him, although a part of her wanted to see if he would, if only to put her raging jealous to rest.

But he had stepped back and though she was immeasurably relieved , a small twinge of regret lingered. But she ignored it. She was here in this awkward situation for a reason and she wanted to see it done.

She relaxed her hold on the door knob and stepped away from the door. She opened it slightly and turned back with a wry smile at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was looking at her, waiting for her to say her piece.

"Mr Thornton, pride is not a fault. The only thing worse than pride is not having any. Perhaps you do not see this the way Mr Webster does because you are in a position to offer—as is Fanny. You are so rich and Mr Webster cannot under present circumstances compete with that. Even though Fanny said that she doesn't care, it is a sacrifice that she is willing to make for him and he must know that and he would feel it very keenly. He must feel the inequality in your positions very much. If there is anything more unforgivable than a woman marrying way above her station, it is a man marrying way above his. This is why Mr Webster cannot let love alone guide his decision, because as much as he loves Fanny and as much as he values her, he must value himself too. Without it, his love would be so slavish, so pitiful, so…" Margaret searched for the right word, "so…"

"Self-abasing," Thornton supplied.

Margaret looked at him and finally saw the understanding in his eyes.

"Yes. So self-abasing. Where would be the meaning in that love? Fanny wouldn't want such a love; nobody would want such a love. It is Mr Webster's pride that makes him want to be a better man, to make himself worthy of her. So please don't resent him his pride," Margaret finished.

Thornton understood why having this conversation with him meant so much to her. In explaining Andrew's decision she was explaining hers. He had been so consumed by his own overwhelming fear and love for her that he had not stopped to think about her feelings that day. He had dismissed her pride, hated her for it because it got in the way of his love and what he wanted. The riot had well and truly been the turning point. Had the riot not happened, he could have persuaded her to marry him; but in the wake of the riot and the subsequent talk, it was not just the impropriety of her actions, but the disparity in their situation that made the impropriety so unforgiving and so presumptuous to the world. And nobody would feel it more keenly than her.

He looked at Margaret, as if seeing her for the first time. This bewitching, stubborn, proud woman who held his heart. He realised that this is exactly how he wanted her; he wouldn't take away one bit of what made her _her_. And he was willing to wait all eternity for her, if need be. How could anyone think that she was not his equal? She was his equal—more than his equal—in every way that really mattered.

What would become of them, he wondered. While Andrew could work hard and make himself equal to Fanny, Margaret, being a woman, could do no such thing. This supposed inequality will remain between them, keeping her away from him, keeping her from truly opening her heart to him. Whatever feelings she may have had for him, she will lock those feelings away and she will teach herself to forget it as long as this meaningless yet somehow all-important disparity remained. Maybe he should bankrupt himself, Thornton thought with a whimsical smile. Perhaps that will take away any inequality she felt about their position.

"Mr Thornton, are you convinced or should I continue?" Margaret asked with a half-smile.

She, of course, knew she had him converted. Thornton finally allowed himself a real smile.

"You had prepared other arguments?" he asked, laughing quietly.

"Since you said you were difficult to convince, I wanted to be ready," she smiled back.

"Then let's hear it by all means. I'd hate to deprive you of the opportunity to show off your hard work."

"Oh!" Margaret did have one other very good argument but she wasn't sure it was something Mr Thornton would care to hear. But he was waiting to hear what she had to say.

"Well, since we are talking about Fanny, surely you must realise that if not allowed to have her way, she will… umm… do something very ill-advised and rash to force both your hands," Margaret said blushing furiously.

Thornton's eyebrows shot up. She was absolutely right about Fanny. If he didn't relent, Fanny would no doubt plot a way to so thoroughly compromise her reputation that both Andrew and he will have no choice but to come to an agreement.

"I wish you hadn't told me that," Thornton said sincerely.

"I am sorry," Margaret shrugged apologetically.

Margaret turned around to open the door fully to let him out. She nervously looked up the stairs. She still couldn't believe how much she had risked in doing this. Thornton followed her out.

"Andrew and you have become rather good friends," he said when they had stepped into the hall.

"Yes," she smiled warmly. "He reminds me of… someone I grew up with. So will you talk to Fanny and Mr Webster?" she said brightly, covering up her momentary lapse.

Thornton nodded. He would still have to deal with the consequences of their indiscretion—big or small—and he will have to talk to Andrew to understand what trick he planned to pull out of his hat within a few months, but if it will secure Fanny's happiness, he was more than willing to do it.

"Thank you for being such an excellent friend to Fanny," he said warmly.

"Oh, it's nothing really. Thank you for… umm…" Margaret had exhausted all her words, and now she floundered for them.

"Listening? Considering I had not much choice in the matter, I can hardly take credit for it," he said smiling down at her.

"I am sorry I had to—"

"Never apologise, Miss Hale. I can hardly wait to see what you do with me next," he said and walked away, leaving her to wonder what next indeed.

* * *

**A/N**: Alright! So I can almost hear the collective groan—_kiss her already, will ya!_ But I am sorry, we will have to wait some more. Now would simply not be the right time. But I can promise you this: when he finally kisses her, he will kiss her thoroughly, he will kiss her senseless and what's more, she will kiss him right back and it will make your toes curl from reading it! :D

And do I need to say – please, please please review. No "ghost" readers please :P I really, really do want to know your views on this story. Your kind words and support means so much to me!

Hugs and love!


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N**: A million thanks for the awesome response to the last chapter. You guys are just FANTASTIC! I think I will have them almost kiss from now on in every chapter ;-)

Hope you like the latest update. Please review review review!

A big cup of sugar to all!

SQ

* * *

Thornton headed to Andrew's after he left Mr Hale's house. It was hardly an appropriate hour for a visit but now that Thornton's mind was made up, he saw no reason to delay.

To say that Andrew was surprised to see Thornton would be putting it mildly. Did Miss Hale speak to him already, he wondered. He knew she was the only person who had a chance of persuading Thornton. His first thought had been to request her to speak with Thornton but he later realised that it wasn't something he could ask her to do. He couldn't possibly put Miss Hale in such an awkward situation, but Thornton's unexpected visit meant that Miss Hale must have already spoken to him. He was both grateful and a bit peeved that she had taken it upon herself to sort out his affairs for him without even his asking, but he guessed he deserved no better for meddling in her affairs.

Thornton looked around the room. He had expected Andrew to have packed up by now but judging from the state of the room, he didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to leave Milton.

"I must mark this day," Andrew remarked, suddenly feeling light enough to jest.

Thornton ignored it. "How much time do you need?" he asked instead.

"Six months."

"No," Thornton shook his head.

Andrew opened his mouth to object, but realised that he was hardly in a position to bargain. That he was here and was having this discussion was all the concession that Thornton was going to make.

"How much time do I have?" Andrew asked.

"Three months," Thornton said.

Andrew stared at him in silence. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the three months that Thornton had given him had been to make sure that Andrew would not get the opportunity to speculate. The result of the speculation would take at least four months. To his surprise, Andrew actually felt relieved that speculation was no longer an option now. He had studied the papers and brochures carefully and he was absolutely certain that it would pay off brilliantly. But an uneasy, nagging feeling told him that he would lose Thornton's respect if he made his fortune through speculation.

Andrew went to the sideboard and poured out two glasses. Thornton sat down. Andrew handed him a glass and sat down himself.

"Do you know how long it took me to rebuild Marlborough Mills?" Thornton asked. "Anything worth building, anything worth having takes time."

Andrew fell into a thoughtful silence.

"What other plans do you have? Thornton asked.

"There is no plan now," Andrew admitted.

"Can't imagine you without at least a few ideas," Thornton said.

"There is always America," Andrew said with a lopsided smile but Thornton was not amused.

Well, there was one other idea; an idea that he had not seriously considered, at least until now—going back to Wiltshire and settling there.

Andrew thought about the uncharacteristic letter from his father. "Have I told you about my father?" Andrew asked.

"He is a squire, isn't he?"

"Well, there are squires and then there are Squires," Andrew said rather sheepishly.

Squire Joseph Webster, his father, was one of the oldest and largest landowners in Wiltshire; he owned nearly 20,000 acres of land in different parishes, most of which was tillable land, which made the Webster family enormously wealthy. The family was also powerfully connected; Andrew's aunt was the Marchioness of Ailsbury. Joseph Webster was something of a benevolent despot; affectionate and generous most of the time but demanding and unforgiving when his temper was roused. His boys meant the world to him but being the authoritarian that he was he had decided that his eldest son, Colin, was going to be the Mayor of Salisbury and his youngest son, Andrew, was going to join the church. With sons in politics and church, his influence on the county would be unequalled. His expectations from his sons were not unreasonable—except that they were unreasonable because Andrew had absolutely no intention of joining the church. A declaration that Andrew made in front of the Bishop and in Salisbury Cathedral, no less. That declaration had promoted a series of window-shattering, door-slamming rows with his father, the last of which had ended with Andrew leaving Wiltshire wowing to never return and his father proclaiming that he had only one son. Colin had tried to intervene but to no avail; Aunt Jane had merely rolled her eyes at all the theatrics.

Now after three years of silence, father had decided that all is forgiven and wanted him to come back. His father didn't go into much specifics in his letter except to say that Colin had publicly disgraced their family by getting dreadfully mixed up with the Catholics. For Squire Webster, who was trenchantly anti-Catholic—a position he had imposed upon his tenants and labourers and a position he had publically declared in numerous Wiltshire County meetings—having his own son betray him had led to much anger and humiliation. Apparently, the whole of Wiltshire had smirked in triumph. The letter was so unlike his father and so vague on details that Andrew wasn't sure if father was genuinely remorseful or merely commanding him to come back so that he can emotionally manipulate Andrew into joining the church in order to make up for whatever lapse Colin was guilty of. So he had written to Aunt Jane asking about the real reason for the volte-face by father before deciding what to do.

This morning, he had received an exasperated letter from his aunt complaining that her brother and two nephews were positively driving her mad. Colin was not involved in some Catholic plot; he had merely married a French Catholic girl (a very lovely girl, she added) and that only half of Wiltshire—specifically, their father's tenants and labourers—had smirked in triumph. After raging at an unrepentant Colin, Joseph had finally realised that both his sons were just as stubborn and wilful as their father and that he had very reluctantly and after much grumbling made his peace with the whole situation. Colin's grave disloyalty (your father's words, she clarified) had the unexpected outcome of making Andrew's refusal to join the church now appear like a minor, youthful offence (also your father's words, she emphasised). But that aside, the real reason is that he misses Andrew very much (your father's sentiments, if not exact words, she pointed out) and would rather die than admit it so if Andrew can return right away, Colin can go on his honeymoon, Joseph can go back to shooting pheasants and there can finally be some peace in the whole of bloody Wiltshire (her exact words). Andrew adored his aunt and he could almost see her muttering under her breath at the silliness of the Webster men. Aunt Jane and Fanny will get along famously, Andrew was certain.

But that though led to another thought: how was father going to react when he heard about Fanny. He supposed a wealthy girl from the North would any day be preferable to a French Catholic girl.

Andrew tried to picture Fanny in Bowden Hall—the overlarge, quaint structure that had been his family's house for generations. Fanny had lived all her life in the city and he wondered how well she was going to adjust to country life. Salisbury was a mere two miles away so it wasn't as if she would be holed up in the country. Salisbury was renowned for its music festivals and regular concerts, so there will certainly be plenty of music to keep her happy. Then there is Aunt Jane and there is also the Archery society and all the other clubs and things that ladies liked to do—well, he supposed there would be plenty to keep Fanny occupied, he realised with a smile. The question was what was he going to do with himself. Three years in Milton had made it clear that he was simply not cut out to spend his life on horseback or shooting pheasants. He liked the energy and vigour of Milton; he liked solving problems; he liked working with people who challenged him. Above all, he wanted his life to amount to something; he wanted to build something for himself—but as Thornton said that takes time and he was desperately out of time.

Thornton had listened to Andrew's story in silence. He was not entirely surprised to learn about Andrew's family; it explained quite a great deal about him. Andrew had told him about his family in bits and pieces but never really indicated that his family practically owned half of Wiltshire. Thornton also had a very good idea where Andrew's skills would be best suited but he kept that to himself—there were some things that a man ought to have the satisfaction of figuring out for himself.

"You know I always thought I would rather toil here in the North, success or failure, than lead a dull prosperous life in the South," Andrew smiled ruefully.

"Maybe the South can use some of the Northern ways," Thornton suggested.

"You don't know the South," Andrew said with a shake of his head.

Thornton stood up abruptly. After the pretty lecture he received from Margaret, he will be dammed if he was going to listen to another on the ways of the South. "If you are looking for sympathy, you are not going to find it. You have way more advantages than me when I started out—way more advantages than anyone I know but you refuse to see it. So don't try to tell me about the South. Two months is more than enough time for you to decide what you want to do with your life. Come back in two months and we'll talk again."

Andrew now rather felt like an ass for moping about his good fortune and to Thornton of all people.

"You are right," he stood up. "Three months it is."

They shook hands.

"Can I meet Fanny before I go?" Andrew asked.

"No."

"Letters?"

Thornton rolled his eyes.

"I don't know your Northern ways of courtship."

"Good bye."

Fanny had been sitting with her nose in a book when Thornton asked her to come to his study. She looked up startled by the sound of his voice. For nearly two days, she had been desperately hoping that John would say something, anything to her. But his silence had been as suspenseful as it had been terrifying. And now that he had finally decided to speak to her, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he was going to say. She rose from her chair and followed her brother, carefully avoiding her mother's questioning gaze.

Thornton stood leaning against the desk. He watched as Fanny entered the study and meekly planted herself near the door. He knew that he ought to reprimand her for her behaviour except that it would be the worst sort of hypocrisy after his little chat with Margaret inside an almost closed room.

"You can come inside. I didn't call you to lecture you, although God knows I should," he said pointing to a chair.

Fanny obediently sat down.

"I just met Andrew. We have come to an agreement. He will return to Wiltshire in a few days and he will be back in three months. In the meantime—"

Fanny leaped from her chair and had her arms around him. "Oh John! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"I am not done yet," Thornton said holding her back by her shoulder. "I haven't promised him anything. So—in the meantime, you will not meet him," Thornton said.

Fanny nodded quickly. A little too quickly for Thornton's liking.

"I mean it," Thornton said sternly. "I cannot have you expose yourself any further. Your little meeting in the office would hardly have gone unnoticed. Do you understand what that means?"

Fanny gave a small nod. For some reason, she was not terribly concerned. She was just so happy that John has agreed, she couldn't care less what people were going to say about her. Except—Fanny swallowed—except Mama! She sat back in her chair.

"What are you going to tell Mama?" she asked nervously.

"The truth," Thornton said.

Fanny looked at him, her eyes pleading for assistance but Thornton ignored it. "I cannot save you from her—even if I wish to."

"I suppose it's unavoidable," she said after a while.

Thornton nodded his agreement.

"Alright then," he said pushing himself off the desk.

Fanny stood up. "Thank you," she gave her brother a kiss on the cheek.

"You should thank Margaret," he said, not comfortable taking the credit.

"She talked to you about me?" Fanny asked surprised.

"Yes. Now off to bed you go," he said giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. "I am going to talk to mother now."

"Oh, dear, right!" Fanny said and ran back to her room.

Tonight was a night for conversations, Thornton thought as he finally sat down to talk to his mother. He told her the truth—he did not hide his fears for Fanny's reputation and he did not hide his confidence in Andrew. Hannah listened quietly, the embroidery in her hands completely forgotten. She didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"What made you change your mind?" she asked unexpectedly.

"Who," Thornton corrected. "Miss Hale."

Hannah couldn't believe her ears.

"John, why do you still visit Mr Hale?" she asked.

"I thought you knew."

As much as Hannah hated Miss Hale for refusing her son, she had no desire to see her subject to slander and false accusations—which is why she had held her tongue when John started visiting Mr Hale again. She figured as long as he continued to maintain his friendship with Mr Hale, the gossip would be proven false. After all, what better way to put all talk to rest than the two families continued civilities. She had even turned a blind eye to Fanny's friendship with Miss Hale, hoping that it would make John's visits unnecessary. Yet, he continued visiting them.

"For God's sake, John! Isn't Fanny's friendship enough to restore her reputation?"

"No," was all the reply Thornton could give; he couldn't tell his mother what Slickson had said.

"She will be fine without your protection!" Hannah said in frustration as John refused to provide any explanation. "You have done more than what any man would have done. You have done the honourable thing by her but now you must do the sensible thing."

Thornton stood up and walked to the window.

"It's no use, John," Hannah continued. "You cannot hide your pain from me. You must stop visiting them. You need to forget—"

"I am fine," Thornton said. "I think it is Fanny you should worry about. I don't believe she realises the consequences of her actions."

"Maybe Miss Hale can talk to her about it. I can't think of anyone more qualified than her on the subject," Hannah sneered.

"Mother," Thornton said in a quiet warning.

"No, John. What right has that girl to tell you—"

"Leave her out of this," he said irritably.

But Hannah refused to yield. Thornton saw the annoyance on her face and he knew she will brood over it till she convinced herself that it was all Margaret's fault and he would not allow that.

"Mother, she only spoke up because she cared about her friend's happiness."

"And what about your happiness? Who is going to care about your happiness?" she asked sharply.

"I know you worry about me," he said quietly. "But there is nothing you can do about it. It is for me to deal with," he said letting the exhaustion of the day finally show on his face.

Hannah opened her mouth but then thought the better of it.

"Come now, mother. I have had a long day. You should rest as well. It's quite late."

"Don't tell me what to do," she said and attacked her embroidery.

"You will stab your finger," he pointed out, knowing perfectly well that it will annoy her but in a good way.

"Don't tell me—" she threw her embroidery in exasperation.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Good night."

In the quiet of his room, Thornton sat down on his bed exhausted but glad to be finally by himself with his thoughts. He shook his head at how improbably cheerful he had been when he bid Margaret goodnight. He couldn't truly decide if there was any real basis for him to feel so happy and hopeful. Before tonight, he had not allowed hope to enter his heart. It was mostly a matter of self-preservation. He didn't think he would be able to survive a broken heart a second time. He had to remind himself that all she had done was tell him why she had refused him and while it was infinitely better than thinking that she had absolutely no care for his feelings and while it was infinitely humbling to find that he had misjudged her so terribly, it was still a refusal and it will remain a refusal as long as the reason for it still stood between them. He had no idea what he could do, or if he could do anything, to bridge the disparity between them. The same pride that kept her from accepting him will also keep her from accepting any help from him to overcome it.

He also forcefully, and more to the point, reminded himself that in explaining herself she hadn't admitted to any great love or feelings for him; in fact she had admitted to absolutely nothing and yet she had been desperate enough for him to understand her reason, which meant that his opinion of her must have mattered a great deal to her, enough for her to throw all caution to the wind. And not for the first time, he thought he had never met anyone half as confounding as her—which only made him love her more.

It was ridiculous that he was going around sorting everyone's affairs while his own was tied up in knots, he thought untying his cravat. The only thing he had from her, the only thing she had willingly given—rather asked of him—was friendship. And this friendship, which he had agreed to reluctantly, convinced that there was only more heartbreak for him in it, yet unable to deny her what she asked, now suddenly became everything. It was the only thing that held her to him and maybe that is where his hope was. Because despite everything that had happened between them and despite everything that stood between them, neither wanted to give each other up completely. And if that was not reason enough for hope, he didn't know what was.

Hannah remained in the parlour late into the night. She knew that Fanny will need a good dose of disciplining, belated but necessary, but she was not too worried for her daughter. She knew that John would never take his sister's happiness lightly and she trusted John's judgement in the matter. It was John that she worried about and she did not trust his judgement when it came to his own life and particularly, where Miss Hale was concerned. She knew that there was no use talking to him. She knew perfectly well that he will continue visiting Miss Hale determined to shield her from the world. It was exactly like John to think about everyone else except himself but Hannah was no longer going to stand idly and watch her son throw away his life for a girl who did not care for him.

She knew it was not John that she needed to talk to. No, it was Miss Hale. She will have to talk to Miss Hale and she was going to get her to do what John refused to do.


	29. Chapter 29

"John is not coming tonight. In fact for a few days, I think," Mr Hale told Margaret as he folded the note that had arrived from Thornton.

"He is busy I suppose," Margaret asked casually, sitting down with her neglected sewing basket.

"Yes. It's good that Bell is still here. I wouldn't suffer from lack of conversation," Mr Hale remarked.

Mr Bell had decided to extend his visit to Milton and had become something of a regular fixture at their house. Although Margaret was starting to warm up to and enjoy Mr Bell's company, she was still somewhat unnerved by his knowledge of her feelings. Mr Bell had not directly questioned her or broached the subject since that day. But every time he came to visit her father, she felt as though he was waiting for her to slip up again.

"Can you see anything at all in this light," Mr Hale asked as he watched his daughter peer at her sewing.

"I don't think my sewing will improve even if every candle was blazing. And can _you_ read anything at all in this light," she archly remarked at her father.

"I don't think this book will improve even if every candle was blazing," Mr Hale said tossing aside his book and smiling at his daughter.

Thornton's note was not the only one that had arrived that day. Margaret had also received a note from Mrs Hampers. It was an invitation to attend a concert at her house.

As soon as she had read it, she had penned a response, politely declining the invitation. Mrs Hampers was the chief benefactor of the school where her father taught but Margaret was certain that her father would be too exhausted to spend an evening away from the comfort of his home. But it is only proper that she consult with him before sending her reply.

"Oh, I thought you would like to go," Mr Hale said.

"Well, I …" Margaret hesitated. The truth was facing Milton society was the last thing she wanted to do. She was sure that the same people who had attended the Thornton dinner party will also be present at Mrs Hampers' and she didn't care to meet the very people who had so mercilessly gossiped about her.

"Bell is going," Mr Hale said. "He will be happy to accompany you." Mr Hale understood Margaret's reluctance to attend but he trusted Bell to take care of his daughter, should she decide to go.

Margaret pondered over it for a full day. She knew that the worst that people could say about her has already been said; she also knew that by refusing Mr Thornton she had proved the gossip wrong—she had not been trying to snare him; she had been trying to protect him. She desperately hoped that by now the truth would be plain to everyone. Moreover, Mr Thornton's and Fanny's friendship had made it clear that neither parties felt any obligation or any undue awkwardness over what had happened.

It wasn't as if she could avoid meeting people altogether. She had run into a few society matron and young women during her walks with Mrs Hampers and while they had not outright ignored her, their greeting had been icy at best. She supposed she should face everyone once and be done with it. She had brought this upon herself, even if unknowingly, she should at least try to salvage whatever is left of her reputation. Besides, she needed to know exactly where she stood with Milton society and she couldn't think of a safer place to find out than Mrs Hampers' house and with Mr Bell for company.

"I think I will attend," Margaret told her father the next day.

On the night of the concert, Margaret felt her doubts and nerves return. Her father gave her a reassuring smile and asked her to apologise to Mrs Hampers on his behalf. When Mr Bell came to collect her, Margaret took a fortifying breath and pushed aside her fears—by God, she could survive two hours!

Half an hour later, Margaret was ready to sink into a chair with relief. Incredibly, things hadn't turned out as bad as she had expected them to be. She had been expecting the absolute worst; she had prepared herself for hostility and cold shoulders. Instead, Milton society had managed to keep their surprise at her appearance to themselves. They had even managed to acknowledge her with a sort of guarded politeness and then left her in peace. Margaret suspected it was largely due to Mrs Hampers' open championing of her. Margaret had no desire to be anybody's cause, but she had by now learnt to keep her affronted pride to herself and was thankful for Mrs Hampers' thoughtfulness.

While Mr Bell was talking to a few old acquaintances, Margaret took the opportunity to look at the paintings in the adjoining room. Judging from the collection, it was clear that Mrs Hampers had an excellent albeit somewhat unusual and eclectic taste in art. Margaret assumed that the old lady was one of the few people in Milton who had a genuine appreciation of art and culture.

"Did Mrs Hampers tempt you with a private viewing?" Mr Bell asked reaching Margaret's side. "Hale told me you were not very inclined to attend tonight."

"Is there a private collection," Margaret asked, side-stepping the real question.

Bell noticed Margaret's evasion and let the subject drop. He didn't want to make her unnecessarily uncomfortable tonight. Hale had told him about the riot and Bell had, of course, put the rest of the story together. He understood how exceptionally brave Margaret had been in coming tonight and he felt no small amount of pride and affection for the girl.

"I wouldn't be surprised. I also heard she has an extensive library," Mr Bell said walking her back to the main room.

"I never thought anybody in Milton would care for…" she looked back at the paintings "… all this," Margaret said with a sheepish smile at her own early prejudice.

"Mrs Hampers is not anybody. Make sure she doesn't hear you say that," Mr Bell winked.

Margaret gave him a conspiratorial smile but her smile died as she saw someone behind him. Bell turned to see what had caused such a reaction. Ann Latimer had entered the room—accompanied by Fanny and Mrs Thornton. For a moment, Margaret could do nothing but stare; her mind frantically trying to understand and deny what she was seeing. She kept looking behind them to see if Mr Thornton had come as well. But he had not. Margaret saw Fanny spot her and she quickly pasted a brilliant smile on her face as Fanny made her way to where she was standing.

Thornton had been right. Fanny had been seen meeting Andrew by a few people and the word had spread. But what nobody could have foreseen was the help that arrived in the form of Ann Latimer. Ann who till now had been actively circulating gossip about Margaret in order to prevent any serious association between the Hales and Thorntons was now actively squashing all rumours about Fanny. Her reasons were rather simple: One, she could not think of a better way to align herself with the Thorntons. Two, she really did not believe that Fanny would have anything to do with Mr Webster. She had visited Fanny as soon as she heard the first of the whispers and professed her faith in Fanny's innocence—it was Mr Thornton's office after all and it was dreadful that a visit to her brother should be so terribly misconstrued just because Mr Webster happened to be there. That Fanny would have anything to do with Mr Webster—a nobody—was outright laughable! Fanny had been about to put Ann Latimer in her place but she remembered her mother's warning and swallowed her words.

Fanny had been annoyed when Ann offered to accompany them to Mrs Hampers'. But her mother had once again pointed out that now was not the time to reject offers of friendship. The Latimers were influential in Milton and it would be the height of foolishness to refuse their willing and unsolicited support, personal feelings aside. When all this was over, she was going to tell Ann Latimer _exactly_ what she thought of her, Fanny wowed. But Ann can be useful in other ways as well. Fanny was now more determined than ever to bring John and Margaret together; especially after what Margaret had done for her.

"I didn't expect to see you," Fanny said.

"It seems nobody did," Margaret said. "Fanny, this is Mr Bell, my godfather. He is visiting us for a few days."

"Charmed," the ever gallant Mr Bell smiled at Fanny. "I will now leave you two to discuss your little secrets; I firmly believe that all young women have at least a few," Mr Bell graciously moved away.

"What a terrific pair we make," Fanny said, once they were alone. Both of them now had less than impeccable reputation and both of them together were attracting quite a bit of attention from the other guests. "At least in my case, whatever people are saying is absolutely true."

"Just three more months," Margaret whispered reassuringly.

A dazzling smile lit up Fanny's face at that. "Oh Margaret! I am so, so happy. I want to jump up and down with happiness; I want to announce it to the world! But Mama will kill me if I don't behave and hold my tongue."

In her note, Fanny had mentioned the conversation that her mother had with her. Margaret was surprised that Mrs Thornton would allow Fanny to attend tonight, especially if the news of her little indiscretion had reached people.

"I was surprised as well. But Mama thought there is no need for me to act further out of character and not attend."

Margaret pondered that. She had to admit that Mrs Thornton did have a point. Everybody knew that Fanny loved music and was very accomplished at the piano. There wasn't a concert or recital that she wouldn't attend and if people noticed that she was avoiding them now, they would think that she did have something to be ashamed and disgraced about.

Margaret looked at Mrs Thornton standing at the far side of the room with Ann. She hadn't seen Mrs Thornton since the day of the riot, and if she remembered correctly, she had been rather angry with Margaret for insisting on returning home despite her injury. God only knew what she thought of her now. Margaret bowed her head. Hannah returned with a barely perceptible tilt of the head.

Margaret saw Ann making her way towards them and it made her stiffen instinctively. Fanny noticed it.

"She came with us. She is our friend now," Fanny said, hoping that she hadn't overdone the suggestion as Andrew had warned her.

"Miss Hale," Ann gave her a curt nod.

Margaret reciprocated.

"Fanny, Mrs Thornton wants you with her," Ann informed.

"I will talk to you later," Fanny quickly said to Margaret.

Margaret watched Fanny walk away with Ann and then join her mother. Mr Bell, who had been keeping a protective eye over Margaret, came to her. Margaret's face was unreadable, deliberately so, he was certain.

"Shall we go inside and sit?" he asked gently.

Margaret nodded.

Fanny, Ann and Mrs Thornton sat together while Margaret sat some seats away with Mr Bell. When everybody quieted and the music began, Margaret began dreading the direction her thoughts were heading. She tried not to think about it. She couldn't deal with it now. She tried to occupy her mind with observing trivialities: the ruffles on the gown of the woman sitting in front of her; the way the candlelight was glinting off the polished wood of the piano; the way Mrs Hampers had closed her eyes to listen to the music better; the way someone was doing this; the way someone was doing that—but her mind refused to comply. She wanted to escape for one moment. Just one moment to deal with the miserable feeling clawing at her heart, one moment to compose herself. Just one private moment. At the end of the first piece, Margaret hoped that the guest would be allowed to stand up, stretch their legs, chat with each other, giving her the opportunity to quietly escape but Mrs Hampers did not tolerate such a frivolous attitude to music and after a polite round of applause, the pianist launched into another piece.

There was nothing to be done now but for her to confront her fears. The suspicion that she had carried for so long had now suddenly become a certainty. Somehow suspecting it hadn't been as devastating as having it confirmed. Mr Thornton had been politely staying away, maybe he did have a genuine reason, but it didn't really signify—not when his mother was publically favouring Ann; not when Fanny had decided to get over her dislike of Ann; and not when Ann was feeling so secure that she hadn't even bothered with the customary barb at Margaret.

What have I done, she thought miserably. _But what else could I have done! _It was either him or her self-respect and she had made her choice that day. She did not feel any anger. She did not feel any jealousy. She only felt a crushing sense of loss and loneliness. She had never felt so lonely in her entire life than she did right now. There was Mr Bell, friendly and sharp, but she couldn't possibly talk to him; there was Fanny, sweet and loyal, but now the last person she could tell; there was Papa, dear and wise, but she worried about him and didn't want him to worry about her. When did her life become so complicated. How can a riot and a blow to the head lead to such consequences. Why couldn't her life be simple and easy. She marvelled at how perfectly Fanny's life had resolved itself. She thought about the card that she had received from Mr Webster. _Meddlesome woman_—was all it said and it was the sweetest, the most appropriate sort of thanks. So exactly like Fred. Fred—the only person she would have talked to, the only person who would have somehow made her feel better—but Fred was so far away, so lost to her.

Before she knew it, she felt tears well up in her eyes. No, she almost wailed at herself. Please God, let me not cry. Let me _not_ cry. Not here—not _here_, she prayed savagely. She tried to hold the tears back. She tried to blink them away. She tried to focus her eyes on something far off. She frantically looked for something to anchor her gaze. Her eyes darted towards the door and were suddenly locked in place by a pair of clear blue eyes. Mr Thornton was standing at the door looking at her.

She was so stunned, she could not even blink. She stared at him, wondering if he was really there or if she was imagining him. She did not know how long she stared at him or when the tears in her eyes dried but he was still there, steadily holding her gaze. She finally turned her head away. Her mind was curiously wiped clean of all thoughts for the moment. She knew the wretched feeling will eventually return and it will return with a vengeance but for now, she felt in control. She also knew he was no longer at the door, that if she turned her head now, she will see an empty door frame and it would be more than she could bear. She couldn't squander whatever strength she had found from him and so for perhaps for the first time, she gave her full attention to music.

Thornton had promised his mother that he would "show his face" tonight and he intended to do exactly that. He had planned it such that he would arrive just as the concert was about to get over, he would then make his apologies to Mrs Hampers and quickly make his exit with his family and return to his account books. None of it would be out of character. Most people in their acquaintance had figured out that Thornton didn't care for parties or social gathering, much less a musical performance—which he got more than enough of at home, thanks to Fanny.

What he had not expected was to find Margaret here. He hadn't seen her for almost a week. With Andrew gone, Thornton had to take up all the work that he had delegated to Andrew. He still hadn't found anyone to replace him and he was running out of patience interviewing and rejecting candidates. He didn't mind the additional work but it meant that he had to cancel his visits to Mr Hale for the time being. Mr Hale had gracious offered to move the meeting to a later hour, but Thornton knew that Mr Hale tired rather easily these days and he couldn't bring himself to inconvenience him for his own selfish reasons.

Thornton was not a fanciful man, but now holding Margaret's gaze, he wondered how could this intense pull, this extraordinary connection between them not mean something. Even from across the room, he felt transfixed by her gaze—as though she had him locked in place. Her eyes were so compelling, so beautiful, so striking. He could never break this connection, even this simple eye contact; he could not look away, so he left it to her to do it.

When she looked away, he quietly went into the outer room to wait for his family. He knew that Margaret would hate any unnecessary attention, which would be sure to follow once people saw that both of them were present tonight.

"Mr Bell, you don't mind if we leave now?" Margaret asked as soon as the performance got over. She needed to get away and not just because Mr Thornton was here.

"Not at all," Bell said readily.

Mr Bell and Margaret quickly made their way to Mrs Hampers and thanked her for an excellent evening and made their farewells.

"Thornton!" Mr Bell exclaimed in genuine surprise as they came out of the room.

A few people had already spilled out into the outer room and neither Margaret nor Thornton could any longer pretend to the world that they had not seen each other.

Thornton saw that Margaret was looking at him with a sort of careful blankness and something else—he couldn't quite describe it; he only knew that it made him want to reach out and reassure her, of what he was not certain. But now was hardly the time for it. He had a feeling—no, he was certain—that everyone present had pretty much given up all pretence of good behaviour and were staring at them and waiting to see how they would act with each other.

"We didn't expect to see you this evening," Mr Bell said as Thornton reached them.

"I do occasionally turn up," Thornton replied. He then turned to Margaret.

"Miss Hale," he politely nodded.

"Mr Thornton," she returned.

"You missed a most excellent performance," Mr Bell said taking up the conversation and saving Margaret the trouble.

"I am sure my sister will tell me all about it," Thornton said.

"I have heard she is quite proficient," Mr Bell said.

Even though Thornton was no longer looking at Margaret, he could feel her intense uneasiness at being caught off guard and finding herself at the center of a spectacle. He turned slowly and deliberately towards the room and fixed everyone with a look of his own. That snapped everybody out of their shameless gawking.

"I trust Mr Hale is well," Thornton turned to Margaret once everyone had gone back to their business.

"Yes. Thank you," Margaret said quietly.

Thornton regarded Margaret carefully. Something _was_ off—he couldn't quite put his finger on it. But he knew it was more than just the awkwardness of this public encounter.

"We were about to leave," Mr Bell informed Thornton.

Thornton took a moment longer to remove his eyes from Margaret's face before responding. "Of course," he stepped aside with a nod to Bell.

"I will visit Mr Hale tomorrow. Will you please inform him?" he looked at Margaret.

She gave a silent nod and walked away with Mr Bell.

By the time Margaret reached home, she was surprised to find that she felt unusually calm. She reasoned that the strain and shock of everything that had happened had probably dulled her. She bid Mr Bell good night with a genuine smile. As she climbed up the stairs, she saw that her father was still in the drawing room by the fire, engrossed in his book.

"Maggie?" he called out. Margaret took a moment to compose herself before facing him.

"Yes, it's me. Who else would it be Papa?" she said entering the room. "You should not have waited up. I told you to go to bed."

Mr Hale slowly got up from his chair and Margaret steered him out and towards his room, all the while keeping up a steady stream of chatter. "I am glad I went, I had a great evening. Did you know that Mrs Hampers has a great collection of paintings? Mr Bell thinks there is a private collection as well. I will ask her to show it to me or is it too presumptuous. I wonder if she used to paint herself. I was never very good with water colours—"

"Maggie," Mr Hale stopped. He knew his daughter was babbling.

"I am fine Papa, just really tired. Now go to bed. Good night," with that Margaret walked to her room and closed the door.

* * *

The next day, Hannah woke up and prepared to meet Miss Hale. She could not put off meeting her any longer.

To everybody else, John had treated Miss Hale with his usual polite formality last evening but to anyone who understood, he had betrayed himself by telling her that he will be visiting them tomorrow. Hannah knew that he hadn't yet hired a new manager and she knew that her son was not the sort of man to take his work lightly so unless he planned to work into the early hours of the morning, she didn't see how he was going to keep his appointment and run his business.

After helping them into the carriage last night, John had said that he will walk back home. He walked when he wanted to think peacefully and it was hardly worth a guess who he was going to be thinking about.

Hannah knew John would forget Miss Hale if only he kept away from her. Given enough time and separation, even the deepest attachment was bound to die out. But if he kept meeting her, he will never be able to overcome it. Hannah had foolishly thought that John had perhaps decided to discontinue his friendship with the Hales after all. That he finally saw the futility of it. But what a vain, foolish hope that was.

As Hannah made her way to the Hales, she thought about Miss Hale. Despite everything, the girl had her grudging respect. Hannah didn't think that she would have it in her to attend the concert. It must have taken a great deal of courage. Her self-possession was remarkable considering the veritable spectacle that took place yesterday when John arrived.

From the moment she woke up, Margaret had spent the day in a flurry of household chores—cleaning, dusting, arranging, organising. She kept busy to distract herself. As a result, when Hannah showed up and was shown to the drawing room, she found herself impressed by the housekeeping skills of someone so young and a great deal irritated because of it.

"Mrs Thornton is here. She is in the drawing room," Katie announced.

Margaret looked up in surprise. What could Mrs Thornton want from her, she wondered. They had not spoken a word yesterday and now she was paying a call. She couldn't account for the visit, but whatever the reason, Margaret remembered that Mrs Thornton had been very nice to her when she used to visit Fanny at their house. She also remembered that Dr Donaldson had told her that Mrs Thornton had stepped out alone to fetch him even before the rioters had been fully dispersed.

Margaret quickly went to the drawing room not wanting to keep her waiting.

"Mrs Thornton, how kind of you to visit," Margaret said as she entered the room. "My father is at school but he would have been very pleased to meet you."

Hannah was momentarily taken aback by the warmth and the genuine smile with which she was received, until she remembered that Miss Hale has always been like this. She was mostly a well-mannered, charming girl—except when her temper was roused. Mrs Thornton recalled how she had argued with John at her dinner party. Hannah had been furious with him for having chosen such a girl—but then John was exactly the same. Hannah didn't care to admit how much these two were alike.

Margaret tried to bridge over the slightly uncomfortable pause by thinking of something to talk about. "Oh, I must not forget. I had asked my aunt for a few Italian arias, Fanny would enjoy them very much. I forgot to tell her about it yesterday," she riffled through the papers on the desk.

"Miss Hale, sit down," Hannah said with mild annoyance. "I did not come here to indulge in Fanny's taste for music. I am here to speak about John."

At the mention of his name, Margaret put the paper back and quietly sat down—not knowing and yet somehow instinctively fearing what was about to come.

Hannah regarded Margaret carefully once she had finally sit down. She looked exhausted and pale, Hannah noted; but what was that to her. She focused on what she had come here for.

"Miss Hale, I do not pretend to know what you were thinking when you foolishly ran out during the riot or what you were thinking when you refused John, but I am willing to believe that you were only trying to protect him and that you showed good character when you refused him."

Margaret looked at Mrs Thornton in surprise. Mrs Thornton continued:

"But people can be unforgiving. So my son tried to protect your name and this time, you sensibly decided to take the help that he was offering. Not many men would have done that, after what had passed."

Margaret began to wonder where this was going. So she again kept quiet and let Mrs Thornton continue.

"But after yesterday, I am sure you do not need his protection. It is clear you have other supporters. I believe it is now time for you to release him of all obligation towards you."

Margaret began to feel uncomfortable at the implication.

"I am aware of the kindness that Mr Thornton has shown me and my father. I have the greatest respect for him. But I assure you he is under no obligation from me. He does it because he is an honourable man."

"Do not presume to tell me about my own son," Hannah said in irritation. "I know my son is an honourable man. He will do what he believes is right. But surely you can see that the time has come for you to end your association with him. And my son will not do it himself, until you ask him to."

Margaret's heart sank at those words.

"He has other duties, other obligations to fulfill. He needs to look to the future," Hannah persisted.

Margaret understood what future Mrs Thornton was referring to and it was more than she could stand. She had barely recovered from last evening, she had barely made her peace with it. She could not do what Mrs Thornton was asking of her. She didn't have it in her. She wanted his friendship, if nothing else. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. While she had certainly not placed Mr Thornton under any obligation, Mr Thornton had not acted out of any obligation either. Hadn't he told her that a thousand times?

"Miss Hale," Hannah asked sharply, growing impatient with Margaret's continued silence.

"I am sure Mr Thornton can decide what is best for himself. He has assured me that he never does anything out of obligation. If my family's association with him is keeping him from… other duties, I am certain he would not hesitate to break it off himself. He hasn't visited us in nearly a week." She was clutching at straws, Margaret realised. She was appalled at how weak that argument sounded. What was wrong with her? She knew it was hopeless and yet, she couldn't believe the desperation that she was feeling at the moment—is this what it is like to love? Is this what it is like to fear losing someone? Is this the same desperation that made Fanny seek out Mr Webster, willing to risk everything?

"You rejected him when he offered to do the honourable thing yet you have no scruples taking advantage of his name and protection now," Hannah glared at her.

"Mrs Thornton! How can you commend me on my good character only to accuse me of… I told you I have not put him under any obligation. Mr Thornton comes to read with my father and that is all," Margaret said fiercely.

"Is that so? Then why is it that you thought it fit to intervene in his private family matter?"

Margaret could not prevent the guilty blush steal across her face as the memory of that conversation came to her and Hannah did not miss it.

"What do you have to say about that," Hannah demanded, now barely able to contain her fury.

"I was only thinking about Fanny!"

"She has a mother to think about her," Hannah snapped. "I only wish you had—" Hannah cut herself off and clamped her mouth shut, horrified at what she had said to a motherless girl.

Margaret looked at Mrs Thornton in shock and pain. Last night, after Margaret had cried her eyes out in the privacy of her room, she had been stuck by the very thought that Mrs Thornton had so cruelly flung at her. She had felt so miserable and lonely that she had for the first time wondered what her life would have been like if she had a mother. She couldn't help the thought because she knew how freely Edith shared her every concerns with Aunt Shaw. And she especially couldn't help the thought after she saw how Mrs Thornton had faced and protected Fanny from the world. Both Fanny and Margaret were being talked about and criticised for their actions; but Fanny had a mother to counsel and guide her, while Margaret had been entirely on her own. And now—what was she doing now? Why was she even arguing? She knew she had lost him on the day of the riot. There was never any chance for her. What could she possibly hope to achieve by antagonising Mrs Thornton.

Hannah was never cruel. She was never unkind. She never said what she did not mean but she had absolutely not meant those words. Whatever her faults, Miss Hale did not deserve that—nobody deserved that. Hannah felt terribly guilty for lashing out at her like that. A guilt that magnified a thousand-fold when she saw the girl look at her like a lost, wounded child.

They both sat in silence for a moment.

"Is that what you would have advised had it been Fanny?" Margaret asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Hannah looked startled. "Excuse me?"

That was so very like Mr Thornton's way of saying _Excuse me_ that Margaret felt a ghost of a smile form on her lips.

"That I should give up my friendship with Mr Thornton," she explained, recovering from her uncharacteristic lapse.

Hannah had heard the question. She had not thought about Miss Hale's feeling at all, she had only been thinking of her son. She did not know Miss Hale enough to feel comfortable advising her what to do, but on this point she was quite clear about what needs to be done.

"You are a clever girl, surely you can see what is best for everybody," Hannah said, her tone far kinder than it had ever been.

Margaret saw that Mrs Thornton was, once again, right. When she had asked Mr Thornton for friendship, she had been so desperate to not have him think ill of her, so desperate to find a way to keep him that she had not thought about the future of such a relationship. That a friendship with him might bring her pain in the long run had never really occurred to her.

She quietly nodded her head.

"I suppose I will ask my father to cancel the lessons."

"I leave you to decide what is to be done. You will do what is right," Hannah said, feeling generous towards the girl after her outburst. Besides, she knew that Miss Hale was a good person, John would have never chosen her otherwise.

Margaret wanted to laugh. Oh yes, she _always_ did the right thing. She wanted to so bitterly laugh. Instead, she did what she always did to tide over a highly unpleasant situation.

"Tea?" she asked with forced cheeriness.

There was a pause as Mrs Thornton regarded her carefully. Margaret felt her smile slowly fade away under Mrs Thornton's deliberating gaze.

"Yes."

After twenty minutes of tea and fitful conversation about doctors and servants, Mrs Thornton left.

On the way back, Hannah played the conversation over in her head. For a moment, she could have sworn that the girl did in fact care for John, that she was deeply unhappy by the loss of his… _friendship. _That was the word that she had used. Hannah hadn't even known that they had a friendship. But it wouldn't be the first time that she had thought that the girl cared for John—everyone had thought the same after her actions on the day of the riot and they had been completely wrong. Hannah was not going to risk her son's happiness a second time. But... but if there was a chance. Well, she would definitely be keeping a careful eye on Miss Hale.

* * *

**A/N**: Phew! The longest chapter yet! I thought about breaking it up into two chapters but I feared I will never hear the end of it from you guys ;) After promising the Margaret and Hannah confrontation, I couldn't delay it. But that aside, I felt it belonged with this chapter as a continuation of Margaret's emotional state.

To all the reviewers who asked me why I had killed off Mrs Hale, I hope this chapter justifies the decision. Yes, I found her character whiny and rather useless in terms on the influence she has on Margaret, but I admit back then I hadn't realized that that decision would pay off in later chapters. I guess that's one of the joys of writing.

As for John and Margaret, I assure you nothing will keep them apart - but you already know that :) They will always find each other - if that little eye contact is anything to go by ;) I love writing such scenes between them :)

Now don't make me beg for reviews, okay? Alright - insert puppy eyes - pleaseeeeeee review :)

Hugs and love!

SQ


	30. Chapter 30

Margaret shut herself up in her room after Mrs Thornton left. She paced about the room trying to decide how to go about doing what she had agree to. She had thought that she would simply ask Papa to cancel the lessons and that would be the end of it. But she now realised that Papa will surely ask her a lot of questions. He had wanted to talk to her last night but she had managed to avoid it. She wasn't sure what reason she was supposed to give him to persuade him to cancel the lessons with Mr Thornton. It wasn't going to be as easy as she had thought. It was going to be a very difficult conversation and the idea made her extremely uncomfortable.

But the alternative was speaking to Mr Thornton and she was certain that he was going to feel insulted and angry. And who can blame him? To be treated so callously—to first be asked for his friendship, and then to be told to stop visiting and have the friendship withdrawn. She was certain that he will despise her for it.

Margaret felt the beginning of a headache. She looked at the clock nervously. Mr Thornton would be here in half an hour and it was too late now to think about what to do. She grabbed her shawl and hurried out of her room.

"Are you going out?" Mr Hale was in the hallway.

"I… I am going to meet Mrs Hampers," Margaret said, surprised at how quickly that idea had come to her. Yes, she will go to Mrs Hampers for now and then decide what to do by tomorrow.

"What for?"

"The watercolours. I told you about them last night."

"You are going to see them again," Mr Hale asked surprised. "I never realised you were so keen on them."

"You have a good evening," Margaret said and dashed out.

Half an hour later when Thornton was shown to the drawing room, his eyes automatically went to the chair where Margaret usually sat. Finding it empty, he paused slightly at the door but quickly hid his disappointment and greeted Mr Hale. He hoped that Margaret will join them soon.

"You have been keeping dreadfully busy. All is well at the mill, I hope," Mr Hale asked.

"Yes, just some extra bit of work," Thornton replied.

"I heard that the trade hasn't picked up."

"It's the same cycle every year, only this time it is quite bad and the strike only made things worse. Quite a lot of mills haven't recovered and have fallen behind, some of them have been forced to close."

"And what about… if you don't mind my asking," Mr Hale hesitated.

"Not at all. Marlborough Mills has pulled through," Thornton said.

It was Thornton's prudence that had saved his mill. He had resisted the temptation to buy new machinery, so his cash was not tied up. That along with the payments for the large overseas orders that he had fulfilled had kept his mill in good business. Thornton had been one of the few Milton manufacturers who had the foresight to reach out and take orders from overseas, particularly the new Asian colonies, where the weather was exceptionally warm, guaranteeing a near constant demand for cotton.

"I am glad to hear it," Mr Hale said. "But those poor workers who are now without employment… " Mr Hale shook his head in sympathy.

"It is a sad state of affairs but it can't be helped. I had considered buying one of the smaller mills that had been given up." With his mill secure, Thornton had been toying with the idea of acquiring one of the mills that had been closed and restarting it. He knew the mill will be up for cheap. He was still keen on trying out the latest machinery and he had quite a few ideas that he was itching to implement.

"What stopped you?"

"Money. I need investors but the general downturn in the market has scared them away. Few are willing to invest in anything new at the moment."

Their conversation was interrupted by Katie who arrived alone with the tea service. Thornton knew better than to wait for Margaret now. He wondered where she was. There was something about her last night that made him worry.

"I trust Miss Hale is well," he asked once Katie left.

"Oh, yes. She is visiting Mrs Hampers. Seems to have taken a sudden interest in watercolours."

"Does she paint as well," Thornton inquired.

"She painted that," Mr Hale said indicating a painting on the far wall.

Thornton stood up and walked to the painting to examine it. Thornton was no judge of art, but even he could tell that while her skill at drawing was extraordinary, her skill at painting was… well, not all that extraordinary. He smiled—she wasn't such a perfect little Miss after all.

"It's nothing great. But it was the only one she managed to finish, so we had it framed," Mr Hale chuckled at the memory of that happy day.

"Why doesn't she finish them?" Thornton asked, returning to his chair.

"I suppose it is because water colours dry easily. She used to complain about having to move the colours on the paper quickly and precisely before they dry. Once they dry, any mistake you make cannot covered up or rubbed out," he explained and then added, "I imagine one has to act fast to get it right the first time."

"That sounds like something she would not like," Thornton said looking steadily at Mr Hale.

Mr Hale gave him a knowing smile and nodded his agreement, "Yes, she would not like that _at all_."

Thornton realised that they had never spoken about Margaret before today. He knew that Mr Hale understood why he had resumed his visit—they never had to discuss it; it was a tacit understanding between them. Thornton had also long ago decided to credit Mr Hale with enough perceptiveness to see that that was not the only reason why he visited, but this was the first time either of them had acknowledged it. Thornton had not really planned it; it just came about naturally. But now that it has happened, he was glad of it. It gave his flimsy hopes some substance.

Mr Hale understood that things were still far from settled between them, which is probably why John was still not asking for anything in his usual forthright manner. But he also understood that John had just now in a subtle but unmistakable way declared his intentions. He supposed it was long overdue and in any case, John had always had his permission and blessing. Mr Hale sighed contentedly and opened his book.

* * *

Margaret had never been so thankful for Mrs Hampers' friendship than now. Although her visit was completely unexpected, she was told by the butler that the old lady was in the house and receiving.

Mrs Hampers enthusiastically showed and talked about her little collection of paintings. And no, there is no private collection—where on Earth did Margaret get that idea from. She will have to set Mr Bell right on that point, Margaret thought with a smile.

Upon learning that Margaret liked to "draw a bit," Mrs Hampers produced a sheet of paper and some pencils and insisted that she draw right now so that Mrs Hampers could ascertain her ability.

Margaret complied. It had been such a long time since she had sketched. It was something that she had given up when she had bundled up her sketchbook and his gloves and her hopes along with it and put them away. She couldn't believe how much she had missed it. She poured all her energy and heart into it and gradually felt all the tension and worry drain out of her. After almost an hour, Mrs Hampers peered at the finished portrait.

"You say you didn't have a tutor," Mrs Hampers asked.

"No."

Mrs Hamper studied the portrait some more.

"This is very good!" Mrs Hampers finally pronounced.

Margaret beamed at the praise.

"No false modesty, eh?"

"No. I had an interesting subject."

"But not above flattery?"

"No."

As Margaret returned home, she was amazed that she managed to have a good time. She had been right. Mrs Hampers used to paint but her old eyes could no longer stand the strain. On Margaret's request, she showed her some of her own paintings. Margaret was amazed that the redoubtable Mrs Hampers had created something of such fragile and translucent beauty. She wished she could paint like that, but the way the colours spread on the paper, as though they had a will of their own, fascinated but also frustrated Margaret. She felt she could express herself better through a medium that she could control completely. So it was pencils for her.

As she neared her house, she realised with relief that the headache may not come on after all. She still had a great deal to think about but she felt much calmer and ready to make a decision…

"Miss Hale!"

She had opened the door to her house and had nearly walked into Mr Thornton.

"I thought you would be gone by now," she blurted out in her surprise.

"So you have been avoiding me?" he asked, somewhat amused and a bit hurt.

"I… of course not," she said and entered inside.

She had been avoiding him. She had hoped that he would have left by now. But Thornton and Mr Hale had been so engrossed in their conversation that they had lost track of time.

"How have you been?" Thornton asked stepping away from the door. He was thrilled to finally see Margaret and did not want to leave without speaking to her and assuring himself that she was fine.

Margaret didn't know how to answer that question without lying. So she asked a question of her own, "How have you been?"

"Busy," came the honest reply.

But not busy enough to escort new friends, Margaret thought. She waited for some of her foolish anger and jealousy to make an appearance but it did not. All she felt was a great stabbing pain.

"I am glad you could make time today," she said and began moving towards the stairs, eager to be away.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Umm?" she turned. "Oh, I am well," she said with a polite smile.

"No, you are not. Something is bothering you," he stated plainly. She was acting so strangely, so evasively. He wondered if someone had been unkind to her or said something to her last night.

"Not at all," she shook her head with a dismissive smile at the idea and climbed up the stairs.

"You are not fooling me," he persisted, holding her back with a gentle but firm hand above her elbow. "You can tell me—as your friend."

Margaret had never hated a word as much as she hated that word right now. She could not even imagine what she had been thinking wanting to be his friend. She did not want to be his friend anymore. Hasn't she spent a good part of today absolutely convinced of it?

It seemed the decision has been made for her. She will talk to him and not Papa. And now that he was here, she might as well get it over with. She spun around on her heels and was startled to find herself at eye level with him for the first time.

Two steps. Ages ago, Margaret had amused herself trying to work out how many steps it would take for her to be the same height as him and since he always followed her when descending the stairs, she never knew but now she had her answer. His height can be quite intimidating, especially when he chose to make himself so, but he usually relaxed his stance when he was with her so that she didn't feel intimidated. When did she start noticing such things, Margaret wondered. It seemed all her realisations about him were doomed to come late.

She suddenly became aware that he was looking questioningly and rather patiently at her. She had never been as lost for words as she was now. She had thought that she will talk to him plainly, bluntly even but she found that she could not do it. He did not deserve it. So she decided to make her request sound as reasonable as possible. It was after all reasonable. She had made him understand about Mr Webster, she could surely make him understand this as well. Besides, it was hardly going to be a great sacrifice for him, she reasoned, what with his other obligations and friends.

"Mr Thornton, I hope you will not be upset by what I am about to say. I mean no disrespect to you," she began. "As you just told me, it seems you are awfully busy at the mill and have other duties that you need to attend to. I wouldn't want to keep you from them. I know why you have continued visiting us and I am very grateful for your kindness and consideration. You have done more than anyone would have done. It's been some time since… the riot and people have forgotten or at least decided to overlook my actions on that day. I believe that there is, perhaps, no need for your protection now."

She was surprised at how calm and reasonable she sounded. But Thornton was silent for such a long time that she began to doubt herself. Margaret began to feel awkward under his continued scrutiny and silence. If only he would say something or give some indication as to what he was thinking, she would know how to proceed, but he was simply staring at her.

"You think I should stopping visiting," he finally asked.

"You will always be welco—"

"Because my protection is no longer needed," he asked ignoring her answer.

"Yes, after last night—"

"And you are quite sure about it?" he asked ignoring her answer again.

This time, she kept silent. It seemed his question were purely rhetorical.

"Did it ever occur to you that I visit because I also happen to enjoy my lessons with your father," he asked, his voice sharp.

She had not really thought about that. She had no reply and could only look back blankly at him.

He waited a moment more for her answer and when he saw that he was not going to get one, he abruptly turned and left.

Margaret stood staring at the space where he had been. She wasn't sure what to think or feel. There had been no anger, no indignation as she had initially feared. He had simply left, exactly as she had wanted. She hadn't really done such a great job of it, she realised. He had left because _ironically_ she didn't have any great reasons. He had left because she had been unreasonable.

But she had not expected her conversation with Mr Thornton to be so anti-climactic either. It just didn't sit well with her. Like she hadn't heard the last of it.

* * *

Thornton threw open the door to his office. He took off his jacket and flung it aside. He stood with his palms on the table, leaning forward, his mood stunningly foul.

Mother! He thought furiously.

He had figured out that it had been his mother's doing as soon as Margaret had finished her little speech. It was too much of a co-incidence that both Margaret and his mother should have the same idea. Besides when Margaret was determined to do something, she would think it through and then do it thoroughly—she would have come up with at least five different arguments. Instead, she had parroted his mother's words back to him without realising it.

He had been so angry that he had almost marched up to his house intending to confront his mother but had decided against it at the last moment.

He looked down at the pile of correspondence on the table. He unknotted his cravat and rolled up his sleeves and threw himself into his work. He finally fell asleep on his desk in the early hour of the morning. Early morning, he returned home to change and was in and out so quickly that he succeeded in avoiding his mother.

He had all day to burn off his anger. He did not want to lose his temper with his mother. But he had never expected his mother to interfere in his affairs in such a way—that she would actually go to Margaret because she didn't succeed with him.

By evening, he decided that he had cooled down enough for a civil conversation. He came home and found his mother at her usual place, sewing in hand. She looked up when he entered. He took up the newspaper and sat down.

"That young manager recommended by Smithers, was he not satisfactory?" Hannah asked after a while.

"No."

"What are you going to do?"

"Look outside Milton."

"Where?"

"Liverpool."

Hannah nodded and went back to the sewing.

"I had an interesting conversation with Miss Hale yesterday," Thornton said, calmly turning the pages.

When Hannah looked up sharply, he continued, "She seems to think that she no longer needs my protection. Oddly enough, the exact words that you had used the last time we spoke about it."

Hannah sat in affronted silence.

"What else did you say to her?" he asked.

When Hannah refused to answer, Thornton folded his newspaper and got up.

"Where are you going?" Hannah asked.

"To Crampton," he said as though that should be obvious.

"John!" She gave him a look of concern, anger, love all rolled into one.

But Thornton was immune to it. "You should not have done that. You must have bullied her a good deal to make her do it."

Hannah was shocked at how unerringly accurate that description was.

"She is not one to be so easily bullied," she rallied defensively.

"Proves my point," he said feeling his temper return.

Hannah looked away with a defeated sigh. She knew John had every right to be angry. She should not have interfered. She should have respected his choice and his decisions. She could have convinced herself that she had done the right thing, except that she had not been terribly satisfied with the way the visit had gone. Miss Hale may have agreed to do what she had asked her but she had come away with a strong feeling that the girl did perhaps care for John. She had encouraged her son on the day of the riot only to see his heart broken. She did not want to do it again.

"I hope you know what you are doing," she finally said, her voice reconciliatory.

"And may I hope that you will never do what you did again," he asked.

"If she hurts you anymore John…" Hannah trailed off threateningly.

"Mother," he said with great patience. "You will not do anything."

Hannah closed her eyes and gave a resigned nod and went back to her sewing.

* * *

As he made his way to Crampton, he thought about what his mother had asked him.

_I hope you know what you are doing. _He wished he had a good answer to that. The part of him that was clinging on to hope needed to believe that Margaret had not really wanted to break their friendship. But he was also disappointed that she could actually be persuaded to do it. God only knew what his mother must have said to her, but he wished Margaret had been her usual stubborn self. It seemed all her stubbornness was reserved exclusively for him.

It reminded him what a slender thread his hopes were tied to but it also made him determined to not give up. It had taken him a great deal of heartbreak and misery to arrive at some understanding of her—he could not give up now. And if she thought that she would be rid of him so easily, she was in for a surprise.

Margaret was sitting in the kitchen keeping the silverware back in its case. She had given them a thorough but totally unnecessary polishing. In the last two days, she had managed to annoy both Katie and the cook by coming up with pointless work—the freshly washed curtains had been washed again; the entire house had been dusted top down; the attic had been aired; and now the gleaming silverware had been polished. But since it was Margaret who was doing most of the work, the two had wisely decided to keep quiet.

Margaret was about to put the last set away when a knock on the door nearly made her jump out of her stool. Surely not! It was Mr Thornton's usual time but it can't be! Not after what she had asked him. Not after the way he had left without a word. It must be a note from him for her father. Yes—that's it!

Katie went to open the door, but Margaret stopped her and went instead. Her heart was beating wildly. It must be a note, she told herself. He would hardly cancel the lessons without some explanation to her father. How lucky that the explanation had befallen him and not her, she thought ungraciously. She opened the door with a thudding heart and there he was! She mutely held the door open for him to enter.

Thornton stepped inside and stood in front of her. He realised that she was too stunned to act, so he gave her his hat which she took automatically but did not move to place it on the table.

"It is usually kept there," he pointed out the side table.

She immediately turned around and placed it on the table while he closed the front door. She had forgotten to do that as well.

"Are you planning to visit Mrs Hampers today as well," he inquired politely.

Margaret turned sharply to face him.

"Watercolours, isn't it? I thought you could do with a few lessons."

She opened her mouth because she ought to say something but did not know what. He took a moment to savour her confusion but she blinked those devastating green eyes at him and he thought it would be safer if he left her for now and let her draw her own conclusions.

But he paused at the foot of the stairs and turned to see her a last time. She was still looking at him, the perplexity written plainly on her face.

He gently taunted her, "You cannot always have your way with me, Miss Hale. I am not that manageable," and strode up the stairs.


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N**: Firstly, sorry about the delay with this chapter. I got stuck. After 30 chapters and nearly 90,000 words in almost 3 months, it was bound to happen. I knew where I was taking this story and I knew what I wanted to happen in this chapter but the words refused to come. But this morning, I finally broke through and we now have chapter 31. _

_Secondly, the incredible response to the last chapter! I actually teared up reading the comments. I can't tell you how many times I have read, reread and reread your kind, lovely and encouraging words. When I got stuck, I was so afraid I would fail you all but your words helped me through. __I am still afraid about this chapter though. _

_GenaLovesJames, I am so sorry I did not respond to your kind message because I really did not know what to tell you. This chapter is for you! _

_Alright, enough with the self-important writerly stuff and on with the story. _

_Hugs and love_

_SQ _

* * *

Margaret stood in the hall stunned by what had just happened. She couldn't even organise her thoughts, let alone string two sentences together.

So many emotions were running through her that she hardly knew what she was feeling. She had never been so confused in her life. The only thing she could grasp at the moment was that he was back and in an impossibly good mood too—if that ridiculous remark he made just now was any indication. What did he even mean by it!

She had not been trying to manage him—not really. She had been trying to manage _her_ life. And it was he who had just frustrated her attempt. She supposed it was her fault too. She had in the heat of the moment decided to talk to him, not really realising just how difficult he can be. She remembered with annoyance how he had arrogantly cut off her answers. He had not given her the chance to get a word in and then stumped her with a question that she couldn't answer. And if he was difficult then, what happened to him now? That is what she did not understand. She knew she had made a mess of her request—that much was quite clear to her—but of all the outcomes that she had imagined, nothing remotely close this had ever entered her mind.

What was she going to do now, Margaret thought in frustration. So much had changed in two days and yet oddly, she was back exactly where she started. The reason why she asked him to stop visiting were still very much true. She did not want to feel the way she had felt on the night of the concert. She did not want to feel vulnerable again. She did not want any more heartbreaks. What she wanted—needed—was to quietly forget him. She had tried so very hard to do that but he kept frustrating that as well. After the riot, she had prepared herself to never see him again, but he had unexpectedly showed up only to treat her with such anger and hostility that she simply could not leave things that way between them. It had taken every bit of her courage and a good deal of her pride to try to mend things and to settle into a quiet friendship with him, but he again made that impossible by rousing such pointless but very real and very hurtful jealousy in her. And now when she had finally decided to take the only piece of advice that anybody had bothered to give her on the matter, when she had finally made the decision that nearly broke her heart, he again comes back as if nothing had happened. To him, nothing had happened and that was the cruellest joke of all.

Margaret looked around in defeat, desperate for some guidance, desperate for some way out of this. She didn't have the energy or will to think about all of this anymore. She was done with making up her mind over and over again and she was done with being forced to change it over and over again.

"Margaret," her father called.

_God no!_ She cried out.

She did not want to face him again. For one cowardly moment, Margaret thought about pretending that she hadn't heard her father and quietly slipping out. But she could never do that. She could not show her father such disrespect, so she went up to the drawing room, face burning with embarrassment.

Margaret entered the room, doing everything in her power to avoiding looking anywhere near Mr Thornton's direction and sat in the corner chair with a book.

For the next one hour, Margaret tried to focus on the book in her hand but with little success. All she managed to do was stew in confusion, embarrassment and helpless anger. She realised quite belatedly that she was actually in no position to ask him to stop visiting. She had foolishly assumed a right that she did not have. She should have talked to Papa. He was her father's guest and if anyone should ask him to discontinue his lessons, it was him. She had worried about talking to her father because she feared that he would ask a lot of uncomfortable questions, but now she saw that it could hardly have been more uncomfortable than this awkward situation.

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to act with him now. Had he been angry, she could at least tell herself that it was justified and deserved. But she had not one clue how to respond to his friendly good humour as though what she had asked him had been a fine joke. He had somehow turned the tables on her while she was only just realising that this was some sort of contest. Which didn't make any sense! She liked to think that she understood him but right now, she did not understand him at all. By all rights, he should be upset and angry, yet he was sitting here talking to her father as though nothing had happened.

When she served him tea, she somehow miraculously managed to not look at him. But she knew that he did. She could feel his smile on her face. Or maybe it was a smirk. And that irritated her beyond words.

The agonising hour finally drew to a close. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stand up but then he remained standing, looking in her direction. She hesitantly lifted her eyes and saw him look at her with a quiet expectant smile. Did he really expect her to see him out? Of course—because she always did.

Margaret stood up and went out of the room with him in tow. As they reached the top of the stairs, she suddenly felt uneasy. She did not want him to follow her while descending. She didn't know exactly why, maybe because she knew he would be watching her the whole time. She paused hoping that he would go first.

Thornton noticed her hesitation and climbed down first. When they reached the hall, Margaret got his things from the table and handed them to him with the most sullen expression that he had ever seen on her face. He had to bite back his laughter. He had no idea what was going on in that pretty head of hers.

"You are angry," he said. While not the most astute observation, it was an opening.

"I am not," she ground out.

"I see," he said, in a voice laced with pure amusement.

_Now_ she was angry. It never failed to amaze her how easily he could make her angry. She loved him yet a smug look or a quip was all it took to make her want to kill him.

"I am not angry," she said stressing each word, trying to convince herself more than him.

"If you are angry with me, you can say so and we can discuss it—or quarrel, if you prefer," he offered with a smile.

"You are not angry," she asked, still quite unable to believe his reaction.

"I have decided to turn a new leaf."

"Since when?"

"Since yesterday."

Margaret remained silent because what was one supposed to say to that. Still she had to say something and she suddenly felt the burning need to ask a question. A question she better not ask but it was proving nearly impossible to hold back.

"Why did you come back?"

Thornton had expected this question but not so soon. He knew there was no way for her to know that he had figured out that his mother had been behind it and he respected his mother too much to criticize her actions to anyone. But the reason why he came back was more than just that.

"Why do you think I came back?" he asked.

"If I knew I wouldn't have asked you," she replied tightly.

He leaned forward. "Guess."

Margaret was taken aback by the challenge in his eyes. He didn't seriously expect her to answer her own question. But he was looking at her as though he did and she found that she couldn't think very straight when he was looking at her like that.

"Because I failed to convince you," she said the first thing that came to her.

"Maybe."

"Should I try convincing you again?"

"You may. But I doubt you will succeed."

"Because you are difficult to convince?"

"Because I refuse to be convinced on this point."

"And why is that?"

Again, he leaned forward. "Guess."

Margaret felt completely unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. She suddenly wanted to take a step back. What was he trying to get at? It seemed to her as though… as though. No! No, that was not possible! She felt uncomfortable, unsure, unsettled.

"I don't know," she said nervously, not meeting his gaze.

Thornton could not believe that she would not see the obvious. But then again, she has always been remarkably obtuse when it came to his feelings. She had, in all fairness, tried to come up with an explanation and more importantly, he had seen the flicker of realization in her eyes but she had abruptly looked away and probably talked herself out of it.

"I didn't think you would. But it seemed worth a try."

_Worth a try? What for?_ Margaret felt like screaming at him. She had a sudden, irrational, blind urge to run, to flee. She was so emotionally overwrought by everything that had happened in the last few days and what was happening right now that she didn't want to understand anything. All she knew was that she needed to escape.

"I need to leave," she bit out.

"Now?" he asked. It was almost dark outside.

"Yes. Now!" she said turning towards the door.

Thornton grabbed her arm to stop her but there was something so untouchable and so vulnerable about her in that moment that he let her go.

"Very well," he said. "I will be seeing you tomorrow."

Her eyes snapped to his in alarm.

"Fair warning this time," he said and went out himself before she foolishly ran off outside.

But Margaret did run out. And she ran out the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. And she intended to keep doing it.

She told herself that she was not running away. She was staying away. She needed to stay away from him for her own sake. She needed to forget him. The last thing she had decided on the matter was that she will cut off friendship with him and not have anything to do with him. After all nothing had changed between them. She was simply sticking to that decision. And if he was not going to stop visiting, then she was going to stay away when he came visiting.

* * *

Thornton knew Margaret was stubborn. But he was finding out just how.

When he visited the next day he knew that she would not be home. The day after that he wondered if he had pushed her too far. The day after that he wondered what exactly did his mother tell her. And the day after that he swore under his breath.

Margaret Hale, he thought in his increasingly rare polite moods, was the most maddening, infuriating, frustrating creature in the whole wide world. And he was utterly and passionately and hopelessly in love with her. He did not even want to contemplate what that said about him. He supposed he should be worried about what her avoidance of him actually meant but he was too far gone himself to think about it now. He had thought about outfoxing her by asking Mr Hale to change the time of their appointment but that would take the fun out of it, wouldn't it now? Fair play in all things, he decided. Besides, he was now perversely curious to see just how long she planned to avoid him.

* * *

A week later, Margaret was returning from Mrs Hampers'—gloomy, weary and a good deal angry with herself. She _was_ running away. She was running away from so many things, for so many reasons that she couldn't keep track of them anymore. She dreaded reading Fanny's deliriously happy long notes for fear that it might contain some remark about Ann. She worried about what Mrs Thornton would have to say to her now that she had failed to do what she had asked her. She worried that her father might finally ask why she was being discourteous to his friend by so deliberately avoiding him. He had already asked her what she was up to during the evenings and she had cheerfully pointed out her colour-splattered sleeves and made her escape.

This can't continue, she thought. Something had to change but she had no idea what that might be. She knew that running away never solved anything but it seemed like the sort of thing you can't stop once you start doing it. She also knew there was a word that described her rather well right now—coward. She hated herself for it but is it cowardice to want to protect yourself? Is it cowardice to want to avoid heartbreak? She truly did not know anymore.

She had just reached her street when she saw the door of her house open and Mr Thornton step out. She slowed down, debating whether to turn around or not. She saw that he was not alone, someone else was with him. Was it Papa? No, it was—Dr Donaldson. But why would he be—

Margaret stopped walking and stood frozen on the spot.

She saw Dr Donaldson shake hands with Mr Thornton and leave. Mr Thornton was going back inside. He turned his head to look down the street, his expression grim and then, he saw her.

By the time she understood what she was seeing, she was already running the few steps to her house. Thornton scarcely had time to speak a word. She pushed past him at the door and blindly dashed up the stairs, nearly tripping over her dress. He was right behind her and steadied her, but she snatched her arm free and continued running up, heart pounding, mad with anxiety. She reached her father's room and was about to throw open the door when Thornton half-stepped in front of her and stopped her.

"He is sleeping," he said, before she could push him aside.

It took her a moment to fully grasp what he had said. But she needed to be sure, she needed to see her father with her own two eyes.

"I need to see him," she said.

He understood and quietly opened the door and Margaret stepped inside. The room was silent and cold. She walked noiselessly to the bed and saw that her father was sleeping. His head and shoulders were propped up and his necktie had been removed. He looked peaceful. He looked _too_ peaceful. Bessie had looked exactly the same, Margaret thought wildly. Her eyes quickly moved down to his chest. She was able to make out the reassuring rise and fall of his chest as he breathed—it was barely discernible, probably muffled by the blanket, but it was there.

Margaret let out a relieved sigh. Her heart was still pounding in her chest and she was still out of breath and as she continued looking at father, she tried to match her own wild, panicked breathing to his gentle, quiet breathing. She stood there for a long time breathing in rhythm with her father and as her breathing slowed down, Margaret felt an incredible calm wash over her. She felt her worries slip away. She felt peaceful.

She allowed Thornton to lead her out of the room. Thornton softly closed the door. He turned to look at Margaret.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I am fine," she said.

He was still looking at her intently to make sure that she was.

"I assure you I won't fall in a dead faint," she said.

"No, you won't," he said simply.

"I am sorry," she said quietly.

"For what," he asked.

"Quite a few things," she said hoping he wouldn't ask her to explain.

Thornton understood. He guided her to the drawing room. After seating Margaret on a chair, Thornton walked over to the table and poured out a glass of water and offered it to her. She accepted it gratefully and took a few sips.

He sat down on the chair opposite her.

"What happened to Papa?" she finally asked.

"He complained of dizziness and seemed to gradually lose consciousness. There was some numbness on his left side so I helped him to his room and asked the maid to get Dr Donaldson. He recovered consciousness almost immediately."

"What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor thinks it is a weak attack of apoplexy. It is not unusual at his age. His head and shoulders need to be raised up to avoid pressure on the head. He advised rest for now. He will come by later for further examination. But he said that Mr Hale should recover in a few days."

Margaret looked away and gazed at the fireplace. She had known about her father's deteriorating health. That was not something she could avoid. Fred had made her promise that she will not keep anything from him and she had written as truthfully as she was able to. The act of writing had helped her quietly make peace with it and prepare herself for it. Yet what happened today felt so sudden. Like it had sneaked up on her. These last few days, she had been so consumed by her own problems that she had forgotten all about it. She had not even been there when it happened. She had not been there when her father had needed her because she had been busy running off like a fool. No wonder it felt so unexpected. But not anymore. She had finally snapped out the self-defeating rut that she had fallen into. She felt calmer and more purposeful than she had in a long time. She felt stronger too. And she needed to be strong, she will need it. She was so hopelessly lost when it came to her own troubles but she will not be a coward for her father. She will be brave. Her father needed her now and she will be there for him and he was going to be alright. She will make sure of it.

As he looked at Margaret, Thornton wondered how old she was. He had never seen her look so young. Seeing her sit so quietly with that determined look of her face, he knew Mr Hale would be very well cared for but what about her. She was strong and brave but he didn't feel very comfortable with the idea of her taking care of an ailing father all by herself.

"Where is Mr Bell staying?" Thornton asked.

"He is in London. He said he will be back by the end of the week."

That's three days away, he thought in frustration.

"I will be fine," she said as if she had read his mind.

Thornton didn't say anything.

"I am not alone. There is Katie and the cook," she explained.

Thornton remained silent.

"When will he wake up?" she asked.

"A couple of hours," he said.

She nodded.

"Would you like some tea," she asked abruptly. Before he could say anything, she added, "I would like some."

Margaret got up and quickly went out of the room but Katie was already coming up with the tea tray.

"Oh Miss! I didn't know you were back. Master is… " Katie trailed off uncertainly. "I thought to bring up some tea for Mr Thornton."

"That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you," Margaret took the tray from Katie and set it on the table.

She made herself busy preparing the tea, finding comfort in doing this simple task. She stood by the table as she let the tea soak for a good three minutes. Thornton watched her as she looked intently at the tea pot and absently pushed back her hair. She made a cup for him and handed it to him. She went back and got herself a cup.

They sat quietly for some time, each lost in their own thoughts when it suddenly occurred to Margaret that he must have been here for a long time.

"Mr Thornton, I am sorry for keeping you from your work. You must want to return," she said.

"Are you trying to get rid of me again," he asked.

"No! I… I was merely—"

He smiled and Margaret realised that he was teasing her. She smiled in acknowledgement at the hit.

"I thought you might be busy," she explained herself.

"It can wait."

Margaret didn't argue the point further because she wanted him to stay. She had been running away from him for nearly a week but right now she wanted his company. Other than her father, he was the most comforting person she knew—that is, when he chooses to be, Margaret corrected herself.

"Tell me about your father," Margaret asked. The words had barely left her mouth when she realised with horror what she had asked.

"I am so sorry. I shouldn't have. I… I didn't know what… " she dropped her head in apology.

"It's alright," Thornton said. Thornton didn't talk about his father because there was never any reason to. It was all so long ago. Most people who knew him now had not known his father, and the handful few who did never brought it up. But he understood that Margaret was simply asking about the father rather than the man.

"He was quite different from yours," he said. "My father was a quiet, rather private man."

Margaret looked up at him in surprise. He was looking at the space behind her, as if he was trying to picture his father. She was certain that he had never spoken about his father to anyone and she felt incredibly privileged and thrilled that he was telling her.

"You could say that he was the sort of father a boy respected and feared," he continued thoughtfully. "This used to belong to him," he said, taking out his pocket watch, idly running his thumb over the surface.

"I never saw very much of him. Most of the time I saw him was in his study." He stopped and then, a smile spread across his face, "Whenever I got myself into trouble, the study was where I would be summoned. He would sit behind his desk and ask me to explain what I was thinking."

"And did you have a lot of explaining to do," Margaret asked smiling, intrigued by the glimpse into his life. It was so different from hers.

"No. But the few times I had to, it was… "

"Awkward?"

"Nerve-wracking. One time I had to explain to him why I should not be horsewhipped for learning foul language from the hall boy."

Margaret opened her mouth in shock but then the image of John Thornton of Marlborough Mills nervously shifting from foot to foot trying to explain why he should not be horsewhipped for learning foul language was… a small laugh escaped her.

He gave her a look.

"What did you say to save yourself?" she asked. She had to bit her lip to suppress further laughter but the image refused to go away.

"I don't remember," he shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Something about it being the footman and not the hall boy."

Margaret pressed a hand over her mouth to stop her laughter but when he looked at her with a _not-amused_ arch of his brow, she gave up and quietly laughed into her hand. Dear God, she should not be laughing, not at a time like this but she could not help it.

Thornton had a notion that he ought to scowl or something, instead he found himself smiling at ridiculously endearing and silly picture she made as she laughed into her hand while with her other hand, she held the tea saucer aloft and away, with the cup rattling merrily on the saucer, to avoid spilling the tea on her dress. He wanted to take away the tea cup and remove her hand from her mouth and kiss that laughter. But then he always wanted to do that and he was getting very good at not doing it.

Margaret quickly sobered down and offered a helpless, apologetic smile.

"I suppose you were an exemplary child," he quipped.

"I was but not anymore. Papa told me that I've picked up a great many vulgar words since we came to Milton," she smiled.

"Vulgar words?"

"Local slang," she clarified. "Slack of work. Knobstick. Sharpish."

"Very impressive," he nodded his approval. All factory slang and all picked up from her friends in Princeton. He wondered what welcome difference he had made in her life.

"Dare I hope you took up painting purely to spite me," he asked. It was a flippant way to ask the question that had troubled him for nearly a week.

"You did say that I was terrible," she replied. She may have run away for other reasons but she had taken up painting because she had been annoyed by his smug suggestion.

"I believe I said you needed a few lessons," he corrected.

Margaret gave him a look. She _was_ terrible at painting. They both knew it. And now Mrs Hampers knew it as well.

"I thought it was time for a new hobby," Margaret said.

"Fanny has taken up letter writing in a big way. I hardly see her without ink stain on her fingers or a quill in her hands," he said with a mock beleaguered sigh.

Thornton couldn't deny Fanny permission to write letters to Andrew. Better letters than anything else, he reasoned. Mother had managed to handle the worst of the gossip and drilled some sense into Fanny. That thought abruptly reminded him that he should not have stayed over so late with Margaret—certainly not now, when her father was unwell and she was alone at home. It could put them both in a highly unseeming situation and they did not need further public scrutiny of their behaviour. He hated to leave her alone but he simply could not stay any longer.

"I must go. It's late," he said getting up.

Margaret understood and got up as well. She followed him down.

"Dr Donaldson will come again later tonight. I will ask Fanny to visit tomorrow," he said, when they reached the hall.

"It's really not necessary—"

"No," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She accepted with a smile.

"And you will take care of yourself," he instructed.

Margaret was moved by the care and concern in his eyes and suddenly, the thought that she had stubbornly refused to entertain for a week, the thought that she had determinedly pushed away for a week fought its way forward. She could no longer deny that he was absolutely sincere and earnest in his friendship towards her. He treated her with care and consideration and with incredible patience, even when she didn't deserve it. In fact, he treated her as an old friend, someone he could tease and annoy without thinking too much about it knowing that he will be able to restore her good mood. He couldn't possibly have this sort of friendship with Ann. Just as she could never have such a friendship with anyone else. Which meant maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit maybe, he did care. Why else would he have stayed so late, giving her company, making her laugh, worrying about her, telling her about his father? Why else would he come back? The answer terrified her. And in that moment she also understood why she had been running away.

She had been running away from hope!

Almost since the moment she became aware of her love for him, she had also been aware that it was hopeless. She had become so comfortable with the notion that when she saw the tiniest spark of it, she refused to recognise it—because it frightened her. And it still frightened her because he must know that she will not accept him. Especially now, when people have reluctantly, slowly decided to change their opinion of her. And especially now, when her father is ill and her situation even more precarious than before. He must know that she will not be able to accept him. Accepting him now would undo everything. He must know that.

"Mr Thornton," she called out.

"Yes?" he immediately turned to face her.

"Why did you come back?" she asked.

He had worried that she would never ask him about it again, but now that she had, he wasn't sure what to tell her. He knew with absolute certainty that now was the worst time to talk to her about it. But he couldn't refuse her an answer and he wanted to be as honest as he could be.

"Because no matter what may have happened and no matter how things may turn out, I do care—as a friend, if that's how you prefer it. Till however long you prefer it."

Thornton saw that she was trying to come up with a response and that was the last thing he wanted.

"No, I am not looking for an answer.

"You didn't ask a question."

"Exactly."

"But I think—"

"No, don't think about it. It always ends badly for me when you do," he said with a smile and turned to leave.

"Mr Thornton," she called out again.

"Yes," he turned, half-afraid that she may have thought of something after all.

Margaret had just now remembered that she had not thanked him for all the things that he had done today, for her father and for her. She wanted him to know how much it meant to her. But a thank you felt so trivial, so inadequate now.

"Miss Hale?"

And then it came to her.

"Please call me Margaret."

Thornton looked at her in wonder and for the first time, he felt hope. Not a flicker, not a glimmer but real, actual hope.

He had always thought of her as Margaret. She had always been Margaret to him. But calling her Margaret was a privilege and a pleasure entirely its own.

"Goodnight, Margaret," he said softly, slowly.

Before this moment, Margaret had not known how wonderful her name sounded. His voice felt like a gentle, teasing wave against her skin. She wished she would stop blushing so madly.

Thornton gave her a delicious, happy _and_ satisfied smile and went out.


	32. Chapter 32

When Richard Hale opened his eyes, he saw the somewhat anxious face of his daughter float into his vision.

"You gave me _such_ a scare, Papa," Margaret gently admonished him.

"Maggie," he whispered after a while.

"Yes?" She asked holding her father's hand.

It took Mr Hale some time to find and form the words he wanted to say.

"How long was I… asleep?" he finally managed.

"A couple of hours. Would you like to rest some more," she asked.

Mr Hale shook his head.

"The doctor will be here again soon. Would you like me to read to you?" she asked.

Mr Hale nodded.

"I hope you are hungry. The cook is preparing an excellent broth."

Mr Hale gave her a weak smile. Margaret opened the book that she knew her father had been reading. She found the page with the corner folded into a neat, small triangle—it was her father's preferred way to bookmark—and began reading to him.

Dr Donaldson came half an hour later. He examined Mr Hale while Margaret waited outside the room. When he came out, the doctor declared himself satisfied that Mr Hale was able to speak and understand clearly. An apoplexy attack often results in loss of speech—Mr Hale was incredibly lucky. The numbness in his left side should go away gradually. Mr Hale needed to rest, his meals should be light and he should avoid care and worry. The doctor will come again tomorrow to check his progress.

After the doctor left, Margaret brought her father a bowl of broth and read to him till he slept. The next day, Mr Hale found Margaret sleeping in the chair in his room. It was now her turn to be admonished but she was not deterred. Margaret cared tirelessly for her father. She kept him company, read to him, fussed over him till he recovered from the worst of it and regained some of his strength. The numbness on his left side didn't subside entirely but he could now sit up on his bed and read. Margaret brought him books from the study and made sure he ate on time and got plenty of rest. She had not been present when her father had taken ill; she was afraid of leaving him alone in his room and couldn't stop herself from checking on him every twenty minutes.

Margaret's obsessive care was tempered by Fanny's presence. Thornton had asked Fanny to visit and Fanny hardly needed any encouragement to call upon Margaret. She came almost every day and sometimes she stayed for hours happily telling Margaret what Andrew had written to her about his family and his plans for the future. His elder brother, Colin's marriage to a Catholic girl had effectively destroyed any chance of a political career—either as a Mayor or MP—which meant it was up to Andrew to fulfill his father's political expectations. Expectations that Andrew found himself perfectly willing and enthusiastic to fulfill. Ever since his return, he had thrown himself into public life. With his father's blessings, he took his father's place in the county meetings, suggested improvements in farming practices, offered advice to the fledgling woollen mills in the district and even had a few recommendations for urban improvements. This was all such a sudden whirlwind change from how old Squire Webster ran his vast estate and holdings that initially people didn't know whether to be impressed or suspicious. But Andrew had managed to charm them and got them to agree to his plans—some of them provisionally, but he was sure it won't be long before his suggestions yielded the desired result and they trusted his judgement.

While Fanny brought the much needed cheer to the house, Thornton made it a habit to drop by for a few minutes in the mornings to enquire about Mr Hale and check on Margaret. When Mr Bell returned, he would occasionally come in the evenings for a slightly longer visit.

Mr Bell was somewhat shaken when he got to know that his friend had taken ill.

"Are you planning to beat me at this as well?" Mr Bell asked as he settled down in a chair by Mr Hale's bed.

"Of course," Mr Hale replied with a smile.

"Don't be so sure. I visited my doctors in London, you know. They poked and prodded and told me what I had suspected all along. I have a few months, maybe a year if I am lucky."

They both looked at each other with sad, weary smiles. They had been friends for forty years. They had met in Oxford—both bright scholars—and had become the best of brothers. Both had decided to lead a bachelor's life and had stayed true to that ideal for nearly two decades until Hale met Maria at a London ball—a place where he had no business being and had walked into out of idle curiosity—and had fallen so deeply and so quickly in love that they had got married within two months of meeting each other. While Bell continued to stay in Oxford, Hale had moved back to Helstone and together with Maria set up a beautiful and loving house. With young Fred and little Margaret, their happiness was the thing of fairy tales. It had proved to be something of a fairy tale in the end. Six years after they married, Maria had taken ill due to a sudden cold. A cold that soon developed into pneumonia and then claimed her life. Bell had been there and he had seen his friend put aside his sorrow and quietly pick himself up and devote his life to his children. And now after nearly forty years of friendship, during which their lives and choices had taken them in different directions, they had finally arrived at the same place at last.

"What are you going to do?" Mr Hale asked. "You always talked about returning to Argentina."

"Well, plans change. I am giving up my post in Oxford and I am thinking of settling here."

"Here?" Mr Hale asked in disbelief.

"Why not? You know, I had thought I could persuade you and Margaret to come with me to Oxford. We could spend the rest of our days in the old place. It would have been a fine life but it didn't seem fair to uproot Margaret again. She seems to quite like it here. So I guess Milton will have to do."

"You are lucky, Hale, you have a child to take care of you," Mr Bell said after a while. "Makes me wonder what if I had married and had children."

Mr Hale looked at his friend incredulously.

"I believe I am growing soft in my old age," he chuckled and then continued a bit more seriously. "You know Margaret has all my affection. She is like a daughter to me. My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity of meeting her more, to give her more time to think of me as a friend and a confidant. She was always away in London whenever I visited you."

"What will become of her, Bell?" Mr Hale worried. "I have some savings but it is not going to last her very long."

"That, Hale, is the last thing you should worry about. She will have all my money and property when I die. I spoke with my lawyers in London about it. Margaret is not yet of age to assume legal rights, but it is all hers."

Mr Hale was deep in thought for a long time.

"After I die—"

"Nonsense! You are going to outlive me by many years. You spare, thin men are always tempting and cheating death! It is stout fellows like me that always go off first."

"After I die," Mr Hale continued, "Her aunt and cousin will take her back to London."

Mr Bell understood what his friend was referring to.

"We can't let that happen now, can we?" Mr Bell said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Don't you worry about _that_. Unlike you I am entirely without scruples."

"And you wonder why Margaret doesn't completely trust you," Mr Hale said with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to upset the Lennoxes. They are very good people and Margaret loves them dearly and they Margaret."

"Really Hale! Why would I 'upset the Lennoxes?' It's Margaret's decision to make. She never struck me as a girl lacking in courage but sometimes we lack the means to express it. Stop worrying about her, she will be fine. We'll see this little business through together."

* * *

Days and then weeks passed by as Mr Hale made a slow recovery. There would be days when he would be quite tired and there would be days when he would be his usual bright self and complain about being forced to rest for too long. When Margaret asked the doctor about it, he told her to have patience. It is the natural process of recovery, he assured her.

On the good days, he would insist on Thornton coming up to visit him. He would ask him about the business and the mill and discuss what they should read next. Mr Hale spent one such good evening chatting with Mr Bell and Margaret in his room. He had managed to convince Margaret to help him out of his bed and into the armchair. He joked about attempting to move to the drawing room next—all with Margaret's approval and blessing. She was the sternest and strictest of nurses, he declared. They spent the evening talking about their Oxford days and told her greatly exaggerated stories about their misspent youth. They even talked about Mr Hale's wedding. Margaret did not know that Mr Bell had been her father's best man. She wanted them to talk about her mother but she saw that both her father and Mr Bell avoided the subject. That however did not stop Mr Bell from recalling a certain _tendresse_ that he had developed for Mrs Shaw, then the young Miss Beresford, when he had met her at Hale's wedding and wittily lamenting about the brainless General who eventually married her and the fate of all the brilliant Oxford men. Margaret couldn't recall seeing her father laugh so much. As the evening grew late, Mr Bell took his leave and returned to his hotel.

Margaret helped Mr Hale back into bed and went to the kitchen. She wasn't feeling hungry but a glass of warm milk sounded like heaven. She was returning to her room with the glass but as she passed her father's room, she noticed the light coming through from the bottom of the door. She knocked and opened the door. Her father was sitting up in his bed, propped against the pillows.

"You are not sleeping," she asked.

"Milk," he said with a smile, seeing the glass in her hand. It was an old habit of hers and Fred's that they continued well into their adulthood.

"Would you like some as well," she asked.

Mr Hale thought about it for a moment, "Yes."

Margaret quickly returned with another glass.

"No biscuits," she said apologetically as she handed him the milk. "I will have some made tomorrow." She dragged a chair to his bedside and sat down.

They both took a hearty gulp and grinned at each other.

"Do you miss Helstone?" he asked after a while.

"I will always miss Helstone, Papa. But I am very happy here in Milton. I didn't like it at first. I couldn't help it," she said.

"What do you like about Milton," he asked with a warm smile.

"The people, I think. I admire their courage and strength. They don't… stop or worry too much. They are too busy for that. And sometimes, I think they are quite happy with their life, although it seems quite unlikely at first," she looked at her father to see she was making any sense, but he was smiling encouragingly. "I met people that I would never have met otherwise—Bessie, Nicholas, Stephens, the children... and well, I think it is impossible to not like a place that has Mrs Hampers," she finished with a little flourish.

"And what about John, your arch-nemesis," he asked, still smiling.

Margaret laughed at that description. That is exactly how she had seen him in the initial days.

"He was the first manufacturer that I ever had the opportunity of knowing. He was my first olive and I couldn't help make a face swallowing it."

Mr Hale laughed slightly before looking at Margaret thoughtfully.

"There is something I wanted to ask you for some time," he said slowly. And sure enough he saw Margaret shift nervously in her chair. "You are not obliged to answer," he added to put her at ease.

"Do you care for John?"

Margaret looked at her hands and did not respond immediately. She had been asked this same question in different forms by Fanny and Mr Bell and Edith and even Henry before, but it felt like this was the first time someone was _actually_ asking her the question. Without looking up, she gave a small nod.

Mr Hale had no doubt about John's attachment. John might be taking his time about it and being cautious, but Mr Hale didn't doubt for a minute that he would renew his suit. John had all but asked him for permission. He was happy that they had become friends again but then Margaret had started avoiding John. He supposed they had quarrelled again, although he had no idea when and where they found the time to quarrel or the things they quarrelled over. Recently, he hadn't had the occasion to see them together. It was Margaret that Mr Hale wasn't sure about—she seemed conflicted and hesitant. He knew that she still worried about what people will say about her. Margaret had always been well-liked and popular, both in Helstone and London and when she arrived in Milton, she had come with a child's confidence and belief that life will be no different here. Nothing had prepared her for what happened after the riot. To suddenly have the tide of opinion turn against her in the most cruel and false way had deeply wounded her and taken away her usual bright outlook.

"Margaret," he said gently, choosing his words carefully. "Self-denial can easily become a conceit. There is no courage or satisfaction in denying yourself happiness. Courage lies in striving for happiness. And I have never known either of my children to lack courage."

Margaret listened to her father, she understood what he was trying to tell her. He had never asked her or spoken to her so directly about Mr Thornton. But something about her father's voice made her fearful and apprehensive—he was speaking to her as though he was giving her some sort of… final advice. They can always talk about it some other time.

"Let's talk about something else now. Please," she requested and changed the subject. They talked about the latest happy news that they received from London—Edith is expecting and Margaret was thrilled that she was going to become an aunt soon!

"I hope it's a boy," she said. "At least poor Capt. Lennox will no longer be outnumbered living in a house full of women."

"To disparage your own sex!" Mr Hale exclaimed joining in Margaret's enthusiasm. He had said what he wanted to say about John and he hoped that Margaret would consider his advice. "Well, I hope it's a girl. I am told girls are easier to raise," he paused, his eyes twinkling, "I will have to assume that is the case since mine was an exception."

"Papa! You are not fair," Margaret cried out.

"Very well. You had more than ample encouragement from Fred," Mr Hale agreed. "I still cannot fathom why you and Fred would steal apples from the Lucas's garden when we had plenty of our own—trees loaded with them. I think my standing in the parish suffered considerably on account of that incident."

"Don't forget the ink in the teapot," Margaret reminded him.

"And Mrs Denny's mutilated rose patch," Mr Hale added to the list.

"And the misfired arrow!"

"The misfired—when was _that_?" Mr Hale asked, putting on his stern expression.

"Oh dear!" Margaret laughed. "Then you must also not know about the missing cow."

They kept adding to the list, laughing and remembering their happy years in Helstone, both eager to outdo each other with the best stories and correcting and helping each other recall the exact details of all the fun and mischief they had. After all the stories had been exhausted, they sat quietly and still for some minutes. Mr Hale glanced at the timepiece and realised the lateness of the hour.

"Go to sleep now. It's almost morning," he said.

"Goodnight, Papa," Margaret kissed her father tenderly.

"Goodnight, Maggie."

* * *

The next day, Margaret woke up refreshed. She practically jumped out of the bed and got ready for the day. She was about to knock on her father's door but considering how late they had stayed up last night, she decided to not disturb him yet. She went downstairs and had a small breakfast. She lined the tray while the cook prepared the batter for biscuits.

When Mr Bell arrived, she sat with him in the study. Mr Bell was reading the newspaper and Margaret was attempting to stitch in a straight line, when a sharp knock on the door stirred them.

"That would be Thornton," Mr Bell declared.

Margaret went to answer the door—she knew it was him. He usually came for a short visit at this time before the mill opened. It was just like Mr Bell to cheerfully point out the obvious.

"Thornton, come join me for a few minutes, if you are not in a hurry," Mr Bell called from the study.

Thornton gave Margaret a slight roll of his eyes at that. Thornton had never taken a great liking to Mr Bell—the man was too shrewd, too knowing and a mischief-maker of the highest order. They could never meet without agreeing to disagree over something—be it architecture, business or the enjoyment of life.

"I will see if Papa would like to sit in the drawing room. He'd said he would like to attempt it," Margaret recalled her father's words with a smile to Mr Bell and went upstairs.

"Hale was much improved yesterday," Mr Bell explained her remark to Thornton. "I think he should recover fully soon."

Thornton nodded, hoping that would be the case. He had met Dr Donaldson yesterday and the doctor had expressed disappointment with Mr Hale's rather slow recovery. He said that there is no actual treatment for apoplexy. Blood-letting was the recommended practice but Mr Hale was quite frail and he didn't think it would help much. Besides it wasn't just the weakness from apoplexy, Mr Hale was an old man and there was no cure for old age.

Thornton heard the soft rustling of skirts and upon looking up saw Margaret standing in the doorway.

"Will you please wake Papa up," she asked in a small, frightened voice.

Both Mr Bell and Thornton immediately stood up. Both understood. Mr Bell quickly went upstairs to Mr Hale's room. Thornton stayed where he was. Margaret was still standing in the doorway, she did not follow Mr Bell.

He slowly moved towards her.

"I don't understand," she said in a low voice. "He was fine yesterday. We talked for hours last night after Mr Bell left. This morning, I thought I will let him sleep. But now he won't wake up." She was talking mostly to herself. She was not looking at him but ahead at the wall.

"Margaret," he said softly.

He quietly took her hand and led her to the sofa. She didn't resist. She sat down and continued staring ahead with a slightly confused look on her face. He understood her confusion. He had felt the same bewildered grief when he had been told about his father's death. He knew that nothing he could say will take away the pain or provide comfort. At least not now, when the loss was yet to fully settle on her.

He called her again, covering her small hand with both his but she did not respond. He saw that she was slowly slipping into lethargy. He placed her hand back in her lap and quietly stood up. He went to the table and quickly scribbled a note. He headed in the direction of the kitchen to find the maid. He told her what had happened and asked her to deliver the note to his house and return quickly.

On the way back to the study, he met Mr Bell slowly climbing down from the stairs. Mr Bell nodded his head to confirm what they already knew.

"I didn't think it would be so soon. Yesterday evening he was… " Mr Bell rubbed his eyes to wipe away the tears. "Where is Margaret? How is she?"

"I think she is in shock."

Mr Bell took a deep breath to compose himself. "She must have some woman friend about her. I can't imagine how much help we are going to be to her right now."

"I have sent a note home," Thornton said and went back to the study.

Margaret was sitting exactly as he had left her. He sat next to her and took her limp, cold hand in his, not caring what Mr Bell made of it.

Mr Bell didn't make anything of it. He was hardly the sort of man to quibble over propriety, especially at a time like this. Margaret needed someone to comfort her and that was all that mattered to him. He looked at Thornton and saw how entirely absorbed he was with her.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea?" Thornton asked her. Margaret shook her head.

"I will get it," Mr Bell said and went out of the room.

Thornton searched Margaret's face for some expression of grief but she was dazed and absent. She looked so fragile that he did not want to force her into any sudden awareness but it had to be done. He sat with her, gently rubbing her icy hand, trying to give her some strength, trying to bring her back.

Mr Bell returned with a steaming mug of tea. Thornton took it from him.

"Margaret, you need to drink this," Thornton said to her, but she looked like she did not hear him.

Mr Bell was now genuinely alarmed at Margaret's unresponsiveness. "Get her to drink it, keep talking to her. I will get a doctor," Mr Bell told Thornton and rushed out.

Thornton made her hold the warm cup with both her hands. Margaret gasped slightly as felt the heat of the cup against her palms, but he had wrapped his hands around hers to prevent her from dropping the cup. She looked at their hands but did not respond beyond that.

"Please try to drink some," he urged. When she didn't, he said in firm voice, "Margaret."

Margaret strained to lift the mug but her hand shook so much that she couldn't. Thornton took the mug away from her.

"What did you all talk about last night," he asked.

He had to repeat the question before she replied, "Oxford."

"They both went to Oxford, didn't they," he asked, relieved to finally hear her voice, even though it was hardly above a whisper. "What else did you talk about?"

"Helstone."

"And what else?"

"You."

"Really? The conversation must have taken quite a turn." He saw a slight softening in her expression. "What did they say?"

He saw that she was thinking a bit about answering the question. He was finally getting through.

A knock of the door startled them.

Thornton gently removed his hand from hers and went to answer. His mother was standing outside with Katie. He had addressed the note to his mother and requested her to come over, knowing that she would never hesitate to help anyone, and especially, to help someone who meant so much to him.

Hannah went into the study along with Thornton and Katie.

"Mr Bell has gone to get the doctor," Thornton informed her.

Margaret was starting to become aware of people around her but she tried to not think about it, she wished her mind to escape into some far off place, trying to seek refuge from reality for as long as she could but it was proving impossible now.

"Miss Hale," Hannah put a hand on Margaret's arm.

Mrs Thornton's voice slowly pulled her back. What is Mrs Thornton doing here, she wondered. And if she is here then Papa—

Her eyes flew unerringly to his as the tragedy finally sank in. It took all of his will-power to not reach out and fold her into his arms. He gave her a small, sad nod.

"Let's get you to your room," Hannah said kindly.

Margaret obediently stood up and went out. The physical activity of climbing up the stairs managed to completely bring her out of her stupor. Once in her room, she sat on her bed and watched Mrs Thornton give some instructions to Katie. It was then that the first tear fell and once it fell there was no stopping the rest. Mrs Thornton turned immediately and though she was not a woman given to overt display of kindness or sympathy, she stood by Margaret's side and put a comforting hand across her shoulders. But it only made Margaret cry more—this sudden inexplicable sympathy from a person she last expected it from. She did not want to cry, not in front of Mrs Thornton, but her tears were completely beyond her control—they fell without end.

Margaret had known that her father was gone. A part of her had known it the moment she had stepped inside his room this morning. The room was empty. Her father was no longer there. But another part of her did not want to believe it. How could he when he had been so well and happy just hours ago? She wanted him to wake up and complain about having overslept. But that was not going to happen. He was never going to wake up. And that realisation tore through her heart. Even though she knew he was gone, she wanted him back. She wanted her Papa back but he will not return to her now and that thought was more than she could bear. Her father had been the center of her world and she could not think of her life without him. She cried with the desperate, sobbing fear of a child who suddenly finds that that its parent has disappeared in a crowd, that the finger it had been securely holding is suddenly gone, that the comforting presence is lost forever and she is left all alone in this world.

Mrs Thornton stood steadily by her, while Margaret cried for her father, unable to stop herself and now well and truly beyond caring who saw her. The sobs finally subsided but the tears continued to fall as Margaret sat on her bed blankly. Katie gave her the sleeping draught that Dr Donaldson had prepared and Margaret meekly drank it. When Mrs Thornton and Katie put her to bed, she didn't protest. She slept like a baby, deep and long.

* * *

The next morning when Margaret woke up, she felt light-headed. Her eyes hurt when she tried to open them. She slowly got out of bed. A mourning dress had been laid out for her. She washed quickly and put it on. She tiptoed down the hall, completely avoiding looking at her father's door and swiftly made her way to the stairs. She went downstairs and found Mr Bell in the study.

"Margaret," he stood up and went to her. He gave her a warm, paternal hug. "How are you, my child?"

Margaret tried to say something, but in the end gave a nod. She looked behind him to see what he was doing, "Can I help you with something?"

He regarded her with surprise. "No, no. I will take care of everything."

"I need to inform Aunt Shaw and Edith and… and… " her voice almost broke but she walked to the writing table and pulled out some papers and ink and set herself to the task. The first two letters were written quickly. But she couldn't bring herself to write to Fred yet.

"Please let me do something. There must be a lot to do," Margaret said, turning to Mr Bell. She had no real experience with the details that death involves.

"Margaret, you don't have to," Mr Bell said gently.

"I must. I need to keep busy. Are you planning the … funeral?" she asked.

Mr Bell nodded sadly. He told her what he had planned and together they discussed the funeral arrangements—who is to come to it and where it is to be. Margaret insisted on attending the funeral even though women did not generally go. She did not want to be left out of this and Mr Bell did not say no to her.

Margaret let Mr Bell write the invitations while she went to the kitchen to help. Knowing that Margaret would not be persuaded, the cook finally allowed her to help arrange the breakfast. Margaret asked Katie to pack the biscuits that the cook had prepared yesterday and take them to the children living in her neighbourhood. She found out from Katie that Mrs Thornton and Mr Thornton had stayed in the house after Margaret had gone to sleep and together with Mr Bell they had taken care of the immediate requirements.

The days leading up to the funeral were agonizingly long. In the last few weeks, her days had been filled with caring for her father but now she had nothing to do but sit and stare at her father's books. She couldn't bring herself to enter her father's room where his body had been prepared and laid out. She wanted to remember him the way he had been that last night—laughing and happy. Mr Bell's presence in the house was reassuring and comforting. He had known her father the longest and was his dearest friend and closest companion for years.

She hadn't expected a letter from Aunt Shaw as she was in Italy and it would be weeks before the sad news reached her. But she received letters from Edith and Henry. Henry's letter was a short one, offering condolence and requesting her to not hesitate if there was anything he could do for her. Edith expressed her heartfelt sorrow at not being able to come for the funeral. Her doctor had asked her to not travel but Capt. Lennox will be attending. Edith asked Margaret to return to London along with the captain. There was nothing for Margaret in Milton and she must come to her family now. She had made the captain promise that he will not return without Margaret. Margaret put the letter aside.

There were so many things she had not thought about, Margaret realised. It had somehow not occurred to her that she would now be expected to go back to London. The idea shouldn't have bothered her so much—she had, after all, spent many happy years with Edith and Aunt Shaw—but it did. Very much. But what was the alternative? Young unmarried women did not live alone and if they did, they usually had a good income. Her father's money was not going to last very long, some months—maybe more, if she let either Katie or the cook go. But what after that? She would have to return to London sooner or later.

Mr Bell had been keeping a close eye on any communication from London. Later that evening, he decided to talk to Margaret about it.

"Will the Lennoxes not be coming," he enquired.

"Capt. Lennox will be attending. He will reach on the morning of the funeral," Margaret replied.

"What is it, my dear? Has that letter troubled you," Mr Bell gently prodded.

"Edith would like me to return to London with the captain."

"And do you not want to return?"

Mr Bell saw the uncertainty and indecision on Margaret's face.

"Margaret, your father left you under my charge and I think that gives me a greater claim over you than the Lennoxes. I don't know if Hale told you but I am leaving my money to you when I die. I am telling you this to explain that you do have a choice. If you want, you can live with your cousin and aunt. Hale told me that they are very fond of you and I will be happy knowing that you are safe and well-loved in that family. Or you can continue to live in Milton. I plan to retire here. So if you want, you can stay here with me and make my old age happy by being my daughter."

He saw Margaret look at him with large teary eyes and the sweetest smile.

"I didn't think you liked it here. You had told me that you went to Oxford to escape Milton," Margaret said after a while.

"That's true, but I am Milton man. My father was from Milton," Mr Bell explained.

Margaret accepted his answer with a quiet smile. Mr Bell waited for her to say something more but she turned her gaze to the book on her lap and fell into a thoughtful silence. He didn't quite understand Margaret's reaction. He had just told her that she was going to be a rich independent young woman—an heiress, actually—a privilege very few women enjoyed. He sat perplexed for a moment, until he realised with a little smile that Margaret had simply no idea how much she was going to inherit! Mr Bell was not a man to advertise his wealth. He had led the quiet, unostentatious life of an Oxford academician and had preferred to quietly watch his investments grow, so it was hardly any wonder that very few people knew about his great wealth.

He wondered whether he should tell her that she was going to be one of the, if not _the_, richest young women in Milton or should he let her think that he was offering her a modest income to live on independently. He found himself exceedingly curious as to what she will decide. How much money she thought she was going to get was now inconsequential to the decision. She could be brave and live in Milton or she could do what was expected and go to London.

"Think it over, my dear," he said with a smile.

* * *

On the morning of the funeral, Margaret finally entered her father's room. When his body had been moved, she had stayed in her room till the footsteps had faded away completely. She looked around the room, trying not to linger too long lest her control completely shatter. She went to the nightstand and picked up his Bible. She went to the hall downstairs where Mr Bell and Thornton were waiting for her. Thornton had offered his carriage to take them to the church.

When they reached the church, Capt. Lennox was already there. He greeted Margaret warmly. She introduced him to Mr Bell and Thornton but her attention was drawn to the people in attendance. They knew very few people in Milton, so Margaret had expected a small turnout—she had after all discussed the invitations with Mr Bell. But the sight that greeted her left her surprised. The church seemed almost full. Margaret looked at the people to see if she recognised them and she realised that most of them were boys aged fourteen to sixteen—her father's students! And they had come along with their families.

"Your father was a well-loved and respected teacher, Margaret," Mr Bell said, as he took her arm and led her inside.

Margaret choked back the sob that threatened to escape her. This morning she had been miserable at the prospect of facing a near empty church. Had it been Helstone, the church would have been full. It seemed so terribly sad and unfair to her that such a kind and loving man should have so few to mourn him. She took a few deep breaths to regain her composure and took her place between Mr Bell and Capt. Lennox. Thornton sat on the pew behind them with his family. As the minister delivered the sermon, Margaret thought that her father's service was some sort of a miracle. Where else in Milton would you find the elite—the Thorntons and Mrs Hampers—congregating with the workers—Nicholas and Katie; not to mention all the middle-class boys and their families. She knew her father would be wonderfully pleased with the idea. She could almost see him grinning at having pulled this off.

At the end of the service, Capt. Lennox escorted Margaret outside. As the attendees shuffled out, Margaret thanked them. The boys bashfully shook hands with her and mumbled words of condolences. They were half shy and half in awe of the beautiful daughter of their late teacher. They were rewarded with a grateful smile.

"Don't let Mr Bell take credit for inviting the boys," Mrs Hampers said as she greeted Margaret.

Fanny gave Margaret a tight hug, trying to convey everything in that gesture while Mrs Thornton told her to come to her if she needed anything. Margaret was grateful to Mrs Thornton but she also felt incredibly awkward around her, especially now, given everything that had happened between them.

Thornton was standing aside and watching Margaret. On that morning, he had pushed aside his desire to want to comfort her himself, recognising that her need was greater than his. He had called his mother and allowed her to take care of Margaret while he did whatever else he could. When he had seen her today, clutching her father's Bible, ready to go to the service, he had been struck speechless. She had looked pale and ethereal against the stark black of her dress, her hair had been pulled back into a low bun and her eyes seemed impossibly large and moist—she had looked heartbreakingly lovely and sad. He had given in to the formality that the occasion called for between them and let Mr Bell take her hand and lead her out of the house and into the carriage.

The days since Mr Hale's death had not been easy. He had grieved the loss of a very dear friend—a man he had respected greatly and come to deeply care for. But along with the grief came the realisation that Margaret will soon be taken away from Milton. He had met her family in London and he knew that they would not allow her to remain here. It would be a matter of time before they would whisk her away.

Mr Bell joined him and stood next to him.

"Do you know the Lennoxes?" Mr Bell asked, looking at Margaret and Capt. Lennox as they were speaking to the last of the guests.

"I've met them," Thornton replied.

"Ah, I didn't know that. In London," he asked.

Thornton nodded.

"Well, the captain is here to take Margaret back. I am told that the younger brother is quite keen on our girl. Even came down to Helstone."

Mr Bell watched Thornton for a reaction but found none. Thornton went to where Margaret was standing with Capt. Lennox. Mr Bell followed him. It had been agreed that the three men will be staying back for the committal. Thornton escorted Margaret back to the carriage.

They had spoken so little after her father's death but as always, they picked up as though they had never left off.

"I believe Mr Hale would have approved of the service," Thornton said.

Margaret looked at him in surprise—he had thought of the same thing.

"Yes, Papa would have been very happy. I had never imagined that he had touched so many lives in so little time. It's humbling to think of it."

"He was one of the finest men I have ever known. I will treasure his memories," Thornton said.

Margaret looked away trying to blink back the tears in her eyes. Thornton stopped walking and turned to her.

"You don't always have to be so brave," he said gently.

"I know. Doesn't stop me from trying though," she said, running a finger under her eyes.

"He was a natural teacher," he said, resuming their walk. "Those boys were very lucky. I wish I had a teacher like him when I was a young boy. I might have taken up philosophy and become a philosopher," he said.

Margaret stopped walking and looked up at him, squinting her eyes against the sun to see if he was joking.

"Is that so very hard to imagine," he asked, happy to see a small smile appear on her face.

"Extremely," she said.

He conceded her point with a smile. He may like to read and discuss philosophy but he was sure he would have found business eventually.

"When does Capt. Lennox return," he asked as he helped her into the carriage.

"We haven't discussed it yet but I think he would like to return soon. Maybe tomorrow," she said.

"And will you be returning with him?"

It was a simple question, but the answer held all his happiness and hopes—it held everything. He had risked himself for her so many times, he thought he would be used to the feeling but this time it felt different. There was a finality this time. They had now reached a point where they had to make decisions, whether they were ready for it or not. How she answered would decide their fate. If he was a more calculating lover, he might have told her he loved her before asking her the question. But he didn't want to do it. When he had told her that he will wait for her, he had said it without expecting anything from her in return at that time. But now he needed to hear from her that she was willing to put herself out for him—that she wanted him as well. Without it, there would be no point in his waiting for her now.

Once again, Margaret was taken aback by his unwavering gaze and question. As Mr Bell had asked her, Margaret had thought long and hard about it. She could now live in Milton without worrying about money. It would be somewhat unconventional but as long as Mr Bell stayed in Milton, she would be safe from unwanted curiosity. He had suggested that she could ask Dixon to live with her. But Margaret knew that the first thing Dixon would do when she arrived in Milton would be drag her back to London. So asking Dixon was out of the question. But if she asked Katie to become a live-in maid, she reasoned she would be adequately chaperoned. Aunt Shaw would deem the whole thing unacceptable but Margaret decided to deal with it when she returned from the Continent and that was a few months away.

But these were details of living arrangements that Margaret could work out with Mr Bell's guidance, the real question was did she want to stay in Milton. The answer was she did—for so many reasons. Milton was her home now. Her father had chosen this place to live and this is where he will finally rest. She could not leave him alone among strangers. But Milton was home for other reasons as well. Milton was where she had truly grown up. She had struggled and suffered here but she had also been very happy as well. Her father had given her so much freedom here—she had been free to run a house as she pleased, free to do things she liked. She had sought out and made friends. She had made mistakes—plenty, to be honest—but she had learnt from them, which is the most important thing as Papa would have said. That is what she had been trying to tell Papa when he had asked her what she liked about Milton. She had never thought of herself as _independent_ but now the prospect of living with her aunt who, even though loving and generous, was quite particular about what place Margaret must hold in society and what a young lady must and must not do made her instinctively rebel at the idea. She couldn't imagine going back to London now. Mr Bell was quite liberal like her father and he would not try to monitor or dictate her life. But the real reason why she did not want to leave Milton was standing in front of her. She did not want to lose him anymore. She had thought about her father's words to her. She wanted to find out if she had the courage to seek happiness.

She looked at her father's Bible, drawing strength from it, hoping that her decision was the right one.

She lifted her eyes and looked at him, "No, I will not be returning to London. I will be staying here in Milton."


	33. Chapter 33

Margaret lay awake staring at the ceiling. She felt exhausted but sleep wouldn't come.

She had not expected Capt. Lennox to be so persistent. It was a forewarning of the battle ahead when her aunt returned from the Continent. The captain had tried to reason with her with as much kindness and tact as he could. He had suggested that she spend at least the first three months with them in London and if she still wanted to return, he promised to bring her back himself. Margaret knew it was a perfectly reasonable and sensible suggestion except Edith will not relent on the matter and Margaret did not want to engage in endless emotional arguments with her about it. Edith would simply not understand. The captain had finally given up after she had assured him that money was not a concern and that Mr Bell will be staying in Milton. After the captain had left, she had retired to her room and stayed there.

Margaret sat up on her bed and hugged her knees. There was one thing that she hadn't done yet and she could not put it off any longer. She had to inform Fred. She had not written to him when Papa had been unwell, hoping that he will recover soon. She did not want to alarm Fred unnecessarily. She had been afraid that he would try to return to England if he thought that Papa was seriously ill.

Margaret sat looking at the blank piece of paper for a long time. She did not know how to begin, what words to write. Tears pooled in her eyes at the thought of her brother grieving alone with no one to comfort him. She knew that Papa had wanted to see Fred one last time, but had never mentioned it. When the news of the mutiny broke and Fred had been named the ringleader, Papa had told her that Fred cannot return to England and that she should never ask him to. But he didn't stop her from writing to him. They did not write very often for fear that the letters might be tracked. He had first gone to South America and then Spain where he was now living under another name.

After nearly an hour, she finished writing and sealed the letter hurriedly. Blinded by the tears that were running down her cheeks, she stumbled back into her bed. She curled herself into the tiniest ball possible and finally slept.

* * *

Thornton sat in his study, late into the night, pondering Margaret's decision.

When he had asked her if she will be returning to London, he knew that he was forcing her to make her mind. The very thing he should have known not to do. But he could not go on like this—not knowing what was in her heart. His heart was hers—whether she wanted it or not. But he wanted to know if she did. He knew he was tempting fate. He would have understood if she had gone to London. It was probably best for her to be with her family at this time. He had in all honesty hoped she will return _from_ London after a few months. Or that she will be in touch. But she had taken his breath away, stolen his heart all over again by telling him that she will be staying in Milton.

After months and months of hurt and anger, after months of wondering if she will ever find the courage to give them a chance—if she even wanted to give them a chance—she goes ahead and in a stunning act of faith and courage gives him the world when he least expected it. And now when he thought about it, he shouldn't have been surprised. Margaret possessed the sort of bravely that was both rare and reckless. It was the same bravery that drove her to confront an angry mob, that made her lock herself in a room with him, and now made her decide to live alone in Milton.

Earlier this evening, he had spoken briefly to Mr Bell about how and where Margaret will be staying. Mr Bell had yet to discuss the matter with her but Margaret will most likely want to continue living in the house in Crampton. When he had told his mother about Margaret's decision, she had received the news in silence and then astonished him by asking if Margaret needed any assistance with domestic arrangement. She could make a few recommendations.

Thornton knew he wouldn't be able to see Margaret as much as he would like to and he accepted it. It would be the worst sort of impropriety for him to visit her and not just because she was in mourning for her father but because she was now living alone. Thornton was not a patient man by nature but he had finally come to appreciate that some things in life cannot be rushed. That some things deserved time. Like love. He remembered the days before the riot when he had rushed headlong—driven by the novelty of the feeling and the passion—it had been a sort of madness. He still felt all those things but the feelings have now ripened into something even deeper—something that took hold of his very soul.

So he didn't mind waiting, knowing that Margaret wanted him to wait.

* * *

Days drifted by and Margaret watched the little household that she had set up for her father slowly transform.

Katie became a proper lady's maid to Margaret and she moved into the house a few days after the funeral. A new housemaid, who came in the day, was hired to replace Katie. The cook, of course, stayed. It all felt somewhat excessive to Margaret that three people where needed to look after her but she submitted to Mr Bell's judgement. Mr Bell rented a house nearby and he spent as much time as he could with her. They would discuss books and he would tell her about Oxford and all the places that he had travelled. Margaret tried her best to be good company but didn't succeed entirely.

Grief, Margaret was finding out, comes in waves. She had stopped crying after the first few days. She had been surprised at her composure during the service. It had been such a beautiful sunny day with a full church. It felt vaguely unreal when she thought about it now. She supposed she had also been so busy thinking about whether she was going to stay in Milton that she had managed to keep the grief at bay. But now with her decision made and her household settled, she was faced with an emptiness that she didn't know how to fill.

Margaret was not supposed to receive and pay calls during the first few weeks of mourning, which left her with too much time and too little to do. Margaret spent her days reading and sleeping. She had never slept as much as she did in the days immediately following the funeral. She was overcome by a weariness that she did not know existed in her. But no matter how much she slept, she always woke up tired. She couldn't even muster the energy to be annoyed with herself for the inactivity that she had fallen into. With three frighteningly efficient servants, it was the easiest thing too. The first few days, Margaret had tried to help with the chores but either everything had already been done or someone was doing it and there was only so much work that she could come up with.

One evening, Margaret was sitting in the drawing room, waiting for Mr Bell to join her. She had been thinking about how to answer Edith's letter when Martha, the new maid, showed Mr Thornton in. She stood up, surprised by the unexpected visit. But realisation quickly dawned on her.

"So you are the surprise," she said.

Thornton looked at her in honest puzzlement, which made her smile a little. It was so rare to see him thus.

"Mr Bell said that he had a surprise for me this evening," Margaret explained.

"His sense of drama is unfailing," Thornton replied dryly.

"He should be here soon. Please," she motioned to him to take a seat and sat back in her chair.

Thornton took the chair closest to her. He had met Mr Bell the day before to ask about Margaret and Mr Bell had invited him to tea, saying that it was about time Margaret had some friends over. Thornton had no idea what he had expected to find, but this was certainly not it.

The air around her had always been electric. Even when she was doing nothing more than sit quietly with a book, she had a crackling, captivating aura about her but now everything about her was dimmed. Whatever strength and poise she had displayed on the day of the funeral was gone. She appeared tired and lost. She was looking at her hands and determinedly avoiding his gaze.

"Margaret," he called urging her to look at him.

But she did not raise her eyes. The moment before, she had been about to make some meaningless remark about something but the words escaped her now. She had thought that she was slowly adjusting to a life without her father but she was unprepared for the flood of memories that his visit had brought forth. They had spent so many wonderful evenings, so many hours in this very room with her father. All she could think about was the empty chair by the fireplace.

She had only recently learned to stop searching for her father's presence. There had been days when she would be sitting in this room idly thumbing through some book but a part of her attention would be focused on his chair—as though she expected to see some movement, hear a familiar voice. On some days when she actually managed to lose herself in a book and found something amusing on the page, she would look towards the chair with a remark or a question on her lips and she would suddenly remember.

Thornton leaned forward, quietly forcing her to look at him. She hesitantly met his gaze.

"Have you not been sleeping?" he enquired.

She gave a small unhappy laugh. "Too much, I fear."

"But not well," he surmised.

She gave a little shrug—well enough.

"How have you been?" he asked.

Margaret tried to come up with an answer which while not the truth would not be an obvious falsehood either. But the silence stretched on while she grappled for words.

"Margaret?"

His voice was everything that was comforting and tender and suddenly, the words she had held back for so many days escaped her, "I miss him."

Instead of mortification at her weakness, Margaret was surprised at how much it eased her heart to say it, to admit it to someone. She did not want to appear ungracious by indulging in her grief, particularly to Mr Bell who had been so loving and caring and doing everything he could to help her. But she missed her father so much. "I thought I will be able to overcome it. But—" She couldn't continue.

Thornton couldn't do otherwise. He reached out and took her hand. He heard her gasp softly. She was startled by the gesture. This was not the first time that he had taken her hand to comfort her but it seemed that she didn't remember much of what happened that morning. He held it firmly and covered it with his other hand.

"You are one of the strongest person I know. You will overcome it."

"I don't—" She began to tell him it didn't seem possible.

He shook his head. "You may not think it possible right now, but you will. The pain will go away."

She looked at him with slight disbelief. She wanted to believe him.

"Trust me. I know."

She didn't say anything for a moment but she slowly nodded, realising that he had been through the same loss. He would know.

Deciding that a change of subject was necessary, Thornton asked, "Mr Bell told me that you have been reading Plato."

"I have been trying to," she said. Unlike her father and Mr Thornton she didn't have much patience for philosophy. She had catch the hint of surprise in his question at her choice of reading. "And I still think Plato is an old bore," she added.

Thornton laughed at that. "What else have you been reading?"

She stood up and he reluctantly released her hand. She crossed to the table where the small pile of books that she had brought up from the study for her father to read still sat. She picked out Le Morte d'Arthur—a book that both her father and she loved greatly and gave it to him.

"Have you read it?" she asked.

"Yes." He noted the creases on the spine. "This appears to be a favourite."

She nodded. "Did you enjoy it?"

"It's hard not to. Don't all boys want to be chivalrous, questing knights?" he asked with a smile and handed the book back to her.

Margaret thought of Fred with his wooden sword attempting to rescue Dixon from the three-headed beast in the kitchen and smiled her agreement.

"Not just boys," Mr Bell said from the door. "I have some ambitions of being a preux chevalier, sixty and gouty though I be."

Mr Bell shook Thornton's hand and settled down in his chair.

"So Margaret, do you approve of the… surprise?" he asked leaning and whispering slightly to her but not making much of an effort to keep his voice down. "Although I cannot take credit for it as it was you who suggested it in the first place," he straightened up and resumed his normal voice.

Margaret blushed furiously unable to decide if she ought to be embarrassed because Mr Bell didn't know that Mr Thornton knew about the surprise or that Mr Bell was suggesting that it was her idea to invite Mr Thornton.

When Margaret didn't say anything, Mr Bell turned to Thornton, "You see, Margaret was accusing me of a kind of mediaeval bigotry against my native town and she thought it would do me good to associate a little with Milton manufacturers. Isn't that right, Margaret?"

"I said it would do both good to see a little more of the other," Margaret finally found her voice.

"So you see, Thornton, we ought to be improving each other. Though I wonder when you Milton men intend to live. All your lives seem to be spent in gathering together the materials for life."

Mr Bell and Thornton launched into an interesting discussion. Margaret was mostly a silent listener. But after several remarks by Mr Bell meant as a provocation for her to join the conversation, Margaret bit the bait and started taking part.

Martha came in with tea service and began preparing the tea. Margaret did not know what overcame her but watching Martha set the cups while she, despite being perfectly capable, sat rather uselessly irritated her beyond measure. She did not know if it was Mr Thornton's presence or if it was old habit forcing itself or if she had just reached her threshold but she suddenly felt the need to assert herself. She quietly stood up and went purposefully to the tea table.

"Thank you, Martha," Margaret said and took the sieve from her hands. Her voice came out a bit sharp, though she had not intended it.

The maid looked at Margaret in surprise but gave her a "yes, Miss" and a quick bow and left. Thornton caught the odd little scene and wondered what that had been about. But his attention was drawn back by Mr Bell.

"Really, Thornton, I didn't expect you to denounce the enjoyment of the power and influence which money gives. Aren't you all striving for money? Or am I mistaken?"

"I don't know about others. But money is not what I strive for."

"What then?"

"That's a rather personal question," he said.

Mr Bell smiled, duly chastened. "Let us not get personal. Moreover, no man can be representative of any city. Although I do not mind being representative of Oxford, with its beauty and its learning, and its proud old history."

And again they argued, or disagreed and passed away a pleasant evening. Mr Bell noted with satisfaction that the Margaret was quite Miltonian and manufacturing in her preferences. In fact the two were taking turns and arguing against him.

"Good Lord, Margaret!" Mr Bell exclaimed. "What a little traitor you are. You were supposed to side with me, remember? I was thinking of taking you to Oxford to show you our High Street—our Radcliffe Square but it seems you might be happier touring a mill."

"I will be happy touring both," Margaret replied diplomatically.

"I am sure you can arrange that," Mr Bell asked Thornton.

"Anytime Miss Hale prefers," he replied.

When Thornton got up to leave, Margaret stood up as well. Mr Bell surprised Thornton by clasping his hand and patting it warmly.

Mr Bell had been worried about Margaret. He had been thinking about inviting Thornton but as her guardian, he had a duty to perform. He needed to keep Margaret safe from any hint of impropriety. He may not be able to invite Thornton often but he was glad he did today. The visit had done Margaret a world of good. She had shown more enthusiasm this evening than she had in days.

"I am glad you came," he said quietly, glancing at Margaret, who was placing the book back on the table.

"Will you see Thornton out, my dear," Mr Bell continued his cheerful tone. "I am rather exhausted. I wasn't expecting to be betrayed and outflanked and outnumbered this evening," Mr Bell fell melodramatically into his chair.

Margaret felt a sudden urge of affection—he was so completely incorrigible and adorable. On an impulse, she went to him and kissed him.

"Thank you," she said with every bit of love that she was feeling.

"Now now, stop treating me like a doddering old fool," he said swatting her away.

"Never," she threatened playfully.

When they reached the hall downstairs, Thornton turned towards her.

"What happened with the maid? Is she not satisfactory?" he asked.

"No! Martha is a nice girl. Your mother was most kind to recommend her," Margaret regretted the unnecessary sharp tone she used with the girl.

"Then?"

"It's… it's just that they sometimes treat me like I am an invalid queen," she said with exasperation. "I don't think they even realise they are doing it. They are only trying to be kind. It would have been much worse if I had gone to London. Edith would have smothered me in sympathy and …silk."

"Is that why you did not want to go to London?"

"London can be terribly dull. I don't care very much for the society there. They can be tedious," she said, knowing she was being harsh but not feeling very apologetic about it. "I am quite used to my life in Milton."

The irony of the situation was not lost on Margaret. She had thought that she had escaped the monotony of London only to find that her life in Milton had become exactly that. She wished she had something to do—something that was purposeful and meaningful.

"What do you strive for?" she asked Mr Bell's question again.

"The mill. Its workers," he said simply. Margaret dipped her head slightly, wordlessly requesting him to elaborate.

"So many livelihoods depend upon it." He hesitated slightly, "I do not want to fail them."

A real smile graced her features. It had been some time since she had known that he did care about his workers. He never regarded his actions as such and would probably explain it away as good business. But Margaret knew.

"You could have given Mr Bell your answer," she said.

"Perhaps. But he seemed to make light of everything this evening. He would have probably accused me of being too individual."

"He was only trying to bring some cheer," Margaret said loyally.

"I know. I am happy he is here with you," he said.

"I must thank you for coming. It seems Mr Bell gave you a very short notice," Margaret said as he opened the door.

"Margaret, you don't have to thank me for anything," he said for what felt like the thousandth time. He wondered if she will ever fully abandon formality with him.

Margaret acknowledged his point with a quiet smile.

"Fanny is most anxious to meet you," he told her.

"Will you please ask her to visit?" Margaret said eagerly. "She had sent me a note yesterday. I think Fanny and Mr Bell will get along famously."

"I can't imagine why," he asked, but he was smiling as he said it.

"I will not tell her you said that," she said, but she was smiling as well.

"And I will not tell her you called London dull," he returned, extending his hand.

They shook hands to seal the deal. With a final look at a grinning Margaret, Thornton went out, a much relieved man.

* * *

Thornton put the purchase orders back in their file. His new manager had finally managed to prepare a document that met with Thornton's approval. He had been rather demanding and hard on the poor fellow in the first few weeks but the man had stuck it out and what's more, he had been quick to learn.

Thornton closed the file and looked up from his work. Fanny was sitting in the chair across the dining table with her feet curled under her and was reading—not surprisingly—a letter from Andrew. He himself had received a letter informing that Andrew will be in Milton next week.

Fanny folded the letter and gave him an absurdly happy grin. That would be the third time she had been reading that particular letter. Thornton resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead gave her an indulgent smile.

"He is coming to Milton next week," she informed him. And then she blushed.

Thornton did roll his eyes this time. He got up from his chair and walked to the window overlooking the main street below. In the last two months, his life had gone back to the old routine before Mr Hale and Margaret had arrived in Milton. He would return home after the mill closed for the day and try to finish some pending work or read while half-listening to Fanny. He wondered what Margaret might be doing. Being able to see Margaret every day was something he had taken for granted, but now he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had seen her since Mr Hale's death. The last time he had seen her, she had been doing quite well. She had handed him a rather heavy volume to take to Fanny.

Fanny, it seemed, had tried to get Margaret to come over for a visit but Margaret had not stepped foot in his house or the mill since the riot. He understood her reluctance but she would have to eventually.

"Shall I ring for some tea?" Fanny asked. "Mama is having tea at Mrs Hampers'. I begged off."

Thornton nodded absently.

"Can Andrew and I visit Margaret?" Fanny asked.

"I don't see why not."

"You should come with us," Fanny said excitedly. "But we will have to visit in the morning. Margaret is not home most evenings."

Thornton turned towards Fanny. "Why not?"

"She goes to teach at the school. I am sure I mentioned it," Fanny said.

Thornton was quite sure she had never mentioned it, certainly not to him. It was not the sort of news that he would receive passively because if Margaret was at a school and at this hour, there is only one place she would be—Princeton.

With every step he took towards the ramshackle structure that someone had pointed out to him as the school, he felt anger and fear rise up in his heart. He had been in this district only once. He had come along with Watson, the police-inspector, who had been investigating a murder. He couldn't believe the extent of his anger at the thought of Margaret spending her evenings in such a place. For all her intelligence and bravery, she had no sense of self-preservation or danger.

As he got closer to the school, he could make out her voice. It had been so long since he had heard her voice—since he had seen her—and yet, all he could think about was how angry he was with her for not caring about her safety and welfare. Her voice became more distinct. She sounded… joyful and dramatic. Despite his anger, he slowed down and tried to follow what she was saying.

"…_Silly goose," said the old woman, "the door is big enough. Just look, I can get in myself," and she crept up and thrust her head into the oven. Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt—_"

It was interrupted by loud cheers and squeals of children.

The school was a large room with a main door and small back door and windows placed so high that the children couldn't see outside. When Thornton approached the partially open back door, he looked inside. Margaret was sitting on a low stool reading out of a book to a handful of children. He stood there transfixed, his anger forgotten in a heartbeat. He had not seen her look so incredibly happy in a long time. She looked so radiant, so beautiful, it made his heart stop. A smile tugged the corners of his lips as he watched Margaret read the story with drama in her voice and her expressive face rendered even more beautiful as she acted out the story.

"… _ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable, and cried, "Hansel, we are saved. The old witch is dead. Then Hansel sprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about—"_

"Are you the teacher?" a loud, gruff voice interrupted. Everybody whirled their heads to look in the direction of the voice. A thin, middle-aged man wearing a rather severe expression was standing at the main door.

Margaret stood up.

"No, I… I come here to read to the children."

The man entered the room and looked at the children and back at Margaret, his expression somewhere between displeasure and curiosity.

"What are you reading to them, if I may ask, Miss—?"

"Miss Hale. _Grimms' Fairy Tales_," Margaret said. "And may I enquire who you are, sir?" Margaret asked stepping forward.

"The school inspector," he said. He pointed at the book, "That is inappropriate for reading to young children."

"Why?" Margaret asked.

The man looked at her surprised that she would question him. He glanced at the children but they were talking in excited whispers with each other, ignoring the interruption.

"Puts nonsensical ideas in their heads," he said sternly.

"I am sure the children realise that it is just a story," she said, trying to keep her voice polite. "What do you suggest I read to them?"

"Nothing. The school is to be closed next week," he said dismissively.

Margaret was taken aback by his disregard for the children, who might hear his callous words. She tried to keep the edge out of her voice.

"I don't recall this school ever being open. No teacher ever came here."

"Then it would simply be a matter of locking up the place," he said and turned around impatient to leave.

"What if I volunteer to teach here?" Margaret asked.

He slowly turned back weary and annoyed. He had had a hard day and this godforsaken little school was last on his list. He wanted to get out of this place and the girl won't let him leave.

"I would advise against it. You should not be coming here," he said curtly.

"I don't believe it is your place to make that judgement," Margaret replied icily.

The man regarded Margaret with narrowed eyes.

"No respectable woman would ever—"

"That's quite enough," Thornton said walking into the room, deciding to intervene before the inspector said something insulting.

Both Margaret and the inspector whipped their heads around. The inspector looked warily at Thornton as he approached them. Margaret, on the other hand, looked stunned at his sudden appearance.

"I believe the young lady was offering to help," Thornton said, fixing the inspector with an icy glare.

Whether it was because he was taken by surprise or the realisation that the girl was not alone, the inspector had enough sense to recognise that he had been impolite.

"Forgive me," the inspector said to Margaret. "But the school _is_ being closed."

"Is there anything that can be done?" Margaret turned her attention back to the inspector.

The man sighed wearily. "You can petition the school board. Although I am not sure any good will come off it."

But before Margaret could question him further, the inspector said a quick "Good day" and took off.

Margaret could not believe that a school inspector would not care about education or the fate of the school. What would become of these children if nobody had the time or inclination to look into the matter? It seemed nobody cared about their future. They would be doomed to work in the factories or mills for the rest of their lives with no hope of improving their lives. She had thought she could help but she was helpless in the face of such apathy.

Margaret looked so disheartened that despite his better judgement, Thornton found himself suggesting a solution. "You should talk to Mrs Hampers. She is usually on these boards or will know someone who is. She will know what to do."

"Do you think something can be done?" Margaret asked uncertainly.

"It has been my experience that something can always be done if the right people look into the matter," he reassured her.

Margaret knew that Mrs Hampers was very much involved in education and she was quite influential. She would certainly bulldoze her way through any school board if needed. Perhaps, there was hope for this school after all. Feeling encouraged, she finally turned her attention to him.

"When did you arrive? I did not see you."

"You were quite engrossed. Are you going to finish the rest of the story?" he asked smiling.

The story was almost at end and there didn't seem much point putting off the rest of it for another day. Margaret returned to the stool while Thornton went to the back of the room. Knowing that he was now among her audience made her terribly self-conscious. She found it impossible to read with the same happy abandon.

"So where were we?" she asked clearing her voice.

"Gretel freed Hansel," one of the children prompted.

"Right," she found the spot on the page and began reading, "_How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other. And as they had no longer any need to fear—"_

"Read it like before," someone complained.

"I agree," Thornton said from the back. The children giggled at his remark.

Margaret looked at him, colour spreading across her face. She felt unaccountably shy. But the children were getting impatient so she willed herself to forget that he was present in the room and proceeded to read. It took her a small while, but she got into the spirit of things and read about Hansel and Gretel making their way back to their house with the witch's treasure. When she finished reading the tale, she immediately looked up at him to see his reaction.

He was standing, leaning one shoulder against the wall, smiling at her. She had never seen him look so relaxed. She had certainly never seen him lean against anything. He always moved and held himself straight—everything about him was purposeful and controlled. But now, gone was the authority he had exuded when he had confronted the inspector and in its place was a carefree air. She had seen glimpses of his casual, relaxed side during their early friendship but she had never seen him so completely at ease before.

Thornton was disappointed that the story ended so soon. He could watch her for hours, enjoying every play of emotion of her face, the way her brows moved, the way her eyes twinkled with laughter or glanced quickly up at the children, the way her lips curved into a smile or made a comical frown or even formed words. Laughing slightly at his own hypocrisy in rolling his eyes at Fanny, he pushed himself off the wall and straightened up.

The story over and the children gone, Thornton remembered why he had come here. Margaret was busy gathering her things when she noticed him closing the back door. Something about his manner told her that his good mood was quickly eroding. Thornton wasn't sure if locking the door would accomplish anything by way of safety but he couldn't leave it open either. When he tried to close the main door, he found that the door did not fit the frame. Margaret felt a tickle of unease when he looked like he might question her about it. He must have changed his mind, because instead he gripped the metal handle and lifted and pulled the door with enough strength to force it into the frame. Margaret winced at the sound and wondered how anyone was supposed to get that door to open now that he had it jammed. But she saw that right now would not be a good time to ask him about it.

As they walked side by side in silence, Margaret tried to think of a topic for conversation but he didn't give her the chance.

"It is not safe for you to come here," he began.

She should have known that there was no avoiding the subject. "It is perfectly safe," she assured him. "It's not as if I am out after dark."

"The two times you needed help had been during broad daylight. Or have you forgotten?" he asked with a sudden flash of temper that nearly made her jump away startled.

Margaret clenched her jaw and kept her head down. She knew she didn't have a leg to stand on. But that didn't make him right.

"Does Mr Bell know you are here?" he asked.

"He knows I am volunteering at the school," Margaret replied after a beat.

"But not which school," he guessed correctly.

Had she been less angry, Margaret would have felt guilty about not informing Mr Bell. But right now, the only emotion she had room for was anger. Margaret fumed silently and walked on.

"There is a reason why teachers refuse to come here," he said.

"And isn't that what led to this situation in the first place? If everybody refuses to come—"

"I cannot allow you to venture out alone at this hour, much less walk one mile to come here," he cut in.

Margaret turned towards him, her mouth open at this pronouncement. The unsaid implication of his words were completely lost on her. All she heard was him telling her that she could not do something. That he would not _allow_ her to do something! She had the greatest mind in the world to cross her arms and glare at him, right there in the middle of the street. But her good sense prevailed. Instead, she quickened her pace, practically stomping off.

Thornton easily kept up with her. He took a quick glance at her—her jaw was set in a furious line and her hands were clenched into tight fists in an impressive display of anger and self-control.

"I cannot take your safety lightly," he continued but in a slightly less angry tone.

"And I thank you for your concern. But I have been here before. I know this place and I _know_ it is safe," she ground out.

"I happen to be the Magistrate. I know about the crime in this area and I _know_ it is not safe," he countered.

"But I want to come here!" She stopped walking and turned to him, her eyes blazing. "I want to do something for these children. You have your mill. Isn't that what you strive for? Why can't I have something of my own?"

"You are confusing issues."

"Am I?"

"Yes," he answered shortly.

Before she could respond, Thornton grabbed her elbow and steered her to walk again. Their argument was starting to draw attention, but luckily they had not yet reached the city. They walked in tense silence.

Thornton forced himself to calm down. The last thing he wanted to do was control her. Her independence was one of the things he had come to admire about her. But along with the independence there was also an infuriating amount of stubbornness. And Thornton knew, better than anyone, just how stubborn Margaret could be. But there is absolutely no way that he was going to let her have her way in this. There is nothing he would deny her but he will not risk her safety, even if she was determined to do it. Suddenly, he was not so upset that the school was being closed. He will help her with a solution, but he will make certain that it did not require her to go anywhere near Princeton.

By the time they reached the city, it was dark and they still hadn't spoken a word. Thornton didn't want to end this evening in an argument. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"Margaret, I know you want to help these children and I want you to know that I will do anything in my power to assist you. But I am concerned about your safety. And you should be too," he said.

Margaret continued looking determinedly at the road ahead.

"If you want to come here, will you at least bring along that girl… Katie with you," he suggested. It seemed like a good temporary solution. It would do very little to ease his mind but it was infinitely preferable to her wandering off alone.

Margaret had not felt the need to bring along Katie as she knew the place well but she didn't want to act unreasonable if he was willing to relent. She could certainly meet him halfway as long as she got what she wanted. Besides, she did not want this evening to end in an argument either.

"Alright," she agreed.

Thornton noticed that she had gradually resumed walking at a normal pace and he accordingly shortened his strides to match hers. Once they were comfortable with the newly-established peace, he asked, "How long have you been teaching these children?"

"A few weeks. I used to teach Stephens' children and sometimes the other children in the neighbourhood would join in. I thought they might like to continue their lessons. Nobody was using the school so I started taking classes there to accommodate everyone."

"These children work in the mills?"

Margaret nodded unhappily. "They shouldn't be. You told me that children under the age of nine are not allowed to work. They are so exhausted by the time they return. Sometimes I feel that I am adding to their burden."

"They looked happy with you," he said.

"That's because I save the stories for last. It's the only way to keep their attention through arithmetic."

Thornton smiled approvingly. "You have taught children before?"

"At the parish school in Helstone. I used to read these stories there as well. Children love it."

"No doubt," he agreed, but added, "Although I can't imagine what that witch did to deserve such a gruesome end."

"She wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel," she replied with a straight face.

"And you are certain this is suitable for children," he asked with laughter in his voice.

"As long as the evil witch gets her comeuppance, it is," she declared.

"With such a terrifying moral, I hope so."

"But haven't you read these stories," she asked.

"No," he said to Margaret's surprise. "It is certainly a great deal more enjoyable than conjugating verbs in Latin."

She laughed as she remembered the trouble that she had had with it. "That was dreadful, wasn't it?"

They had reached Crampton and the street was empty, save for the odd street merchant who was packing up his wares. She climbed up the two steps that led to the door and turned around.

"Oh, there is something on your…" Looking down at him from the steps, she noticed some plaster clinging on his shoulder where it had touched the wall when he had been leaning.

Margaret impulsively reached out her hand to brush it off but stopped when she realised how extremely familiar the gesture must appear. She was glad the street was deserted. But both of them were suddenly very aware that this was the first time she had made a move to touch him and however innocent and spontaneous it may have started out, it now became charged with meaning. Thornton looked at her stilled hand and slowly turned his gaze to her face—silently daring her to continue. She could not withdraw her hand now but the thought of what she was about to do made her stomach flip.

He was wearing a woollen coat, which meant that the plaster was struck rather stubbornly on to the cloth, which meant that she would actually have to remove it and not merely flick it off with her fingers. She tried to appear nonchalant about it but when her fingers finally touched him she could feel his heat and strength even through the heavy coat. She wondered how it would feel to—

Her face reddened immediately.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, his eyes mischievous and dark at the same time.

"That I should meet Mrs Hampers tomorrow about the school," she answered, keeping her eyes firmly on his shoulder.

He couldn't help smile a little. She always had a ready answer. But he was willing to wager everything that that was not what she had been thinking. And in that moment he would have given everything to know what she had been on her mind. While she continued to focus on her task, he let his gaze linger on her face, studying the lovely deep blush that nearly matched the colour of her lips.

After ascertaining that no trace of plaster remained and smoothening out the fabric, she pulled away and finally dared to meet his eye. He was looking intently at her with an expression that she didn't have the presence of mind to define. It was alarming to her how he could put her at ease one moment and in the next moment make her nerves tingle and her heart thunder. Flustered, she turned around to open the door.

"Margaret," he called. Thornton was not ready to relinquish her company. He saw so little of her these days.

"Yes," she turned back and faced him.

"Can I accompany you to the school when you go next?" he asked. Thornton figured that one more evening wouldn't hurt and will go unnoticed by people.

Margaret was instantly suspicious. "I assure you I will take Katie along with me," she said.

"That is not why I asked."

"Oh," she said a little breathlessly before asking, "But what will you do?"

"Maybe I can assist with arithmetic."

"Have you ever taught anyone before?" she questioned.

"Fanny. Although I am not terribly proud of how that turned out."

Margaret suppressed a smile. "Very well," she allowed magnanimously.

"Thank you," he said feeling as if he had just been interviewed for the position.

"Thank you for accompanying me. It was a lovely walk," she said, reaching out again for the door knob.

"Even though you ground your teeth to powder the entire time?" he asked amused.

Margaret's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open and she felt something suspiciously like laughter bubble inside her.

"Yes. Good night," she said and quickly went inside.

She had barely closed the door when she began shaking with laughter. She laughed all the way to her room till she had tears in her eyes. How could she have ever thought that he didn't have a sense of humour!

Margaret fell back on her bed, her sides hurting from the laughter. How had he known where she would be—Fanny, of course! As she went over the evening, she realised that while he had always disapproved of her visits to Princeton, before today, he had never spoken to her with so much claim and she had not questioned him either. She had argued against the point but not against him making the point. That thought had not even occurred to her.

Did that mean that they have an… understanding now?

Margaret sat up blot straight, startled by the thought. It was odd to arrive at an understanding without having done or said anything to each other. No, that wasn't entirely true—he had told her that he was willing to wait for her and by staying in Milton, she had told him that she wanted him to wait for her. Not exactly told him, but her actions had revealed what was in her heart.

Margaret slowly sank back in her bed trying to understand how she felt about it. She realised she was nervous. But it was after all a new situation for her so it was understandable that she would be nervous but she was not worried. She no longer felt any of her previous concerns. We always wear out our worries, she had read somewhere. It was so true. Her worries had worn her out but she in turn had also worn out her worries by thinking them threadbare. Deep down, she actually felt peaceful, relieved even.

So she was feeling nervous, peaceful, relieved and excited, Margaret happily catalogued. What else?

Anticipation?

Oh yes, she grinned at the ceiling. Most definitely anticipation. She was most definitely looking forward to meeting him next. And she was most definitely looking forward to seeing him try open that door now!


	34. Chapter 34

Margaret didn't get the satisfaction of watching Thornton struggle to open the door. He had got the door repaired earlier that day. Instead, he held the door open for her with a smirk. Margaret grumbled her thanks.

Aside from that minor disappointment, the rest of the evening was truly lovely.

The children were somewhat surprised to see him again and were rather quiet, their natural boisterousness restrained by the presence of the tall, intimidating man. Margaret did not really need much assistance with the children and she left Thornton to figure out how to make himself useful.

Thornton stood to one side, looking rather imperial. But he was quietly observing what Margaret was doing and taking cues from her. Other than Fanny, he had no experience dealing with young children.

One of the little girls tugged Margaret's skirt and asked her who the man was. Thornton was peering down at the slate of one of the boys.

"His loftiness," she whispered, stifling a giggle.

The boy was struggling with his sums and Thornton offered to show him how to do it. The boy looked doubtfully at Margaret and when she gave a nod of approval, he gave his piece of chalk and slate to Thornton.

Margaret felt an overwhelming rush of happiness at being able to share this evening with him, at being able to share a part of her world with him. She could finally surrender herself to the exhilarating, giddy feeling and know what it was. She kept stealing quick glances at him throughout the evening. As she had expected, he took his task quite seriously. He would write out a sum and watch the boy solve it. If the boy got stuck, he would help out and if the boy solved it, he would give him another slightly difficult sum. The two spent the rest of the hour following this pattern. They were so engrossed that they missed the fact that the rest of the class had started reading alphabets. But they, not surprisingly, put the sums aside when it was time for the story.

After the class got over, he once again held the door open for her.

It turned out that that door was not the only door that he had opened for her.

Mrs Hampers had gone to talk to the head of the school board and had been informed that the school cannot be saved. They simply couldn't afford to run the school as the workers were not able to pay the fees. The strike had put many mills out of business, leaving its workers unemployed. Mrs Hampers could not do much about it other than offer to pay the fees for some of the students but it would not be enough to keep the school going.

But Margaret was not going to give up that easily. She decided to meet the head of the board herself. She dragged Mrs Hamper along and persuaded him to at least let her use the school building till the time another solution could be found.

Margaret and Mrs Hampers mulled over what else they could do. Margaret had heard her father talk about ragged schools and suggested involving the Ragged School Union. But Mrs Hampers explained that that would not be possible in Milton. Apparently, the mayor, who was a Whig, opposed the Union because it was headed by Lord Shaftesbury, who was a Tory. As she discussed the matter with Mrs Hampers, Margaret began to realise just how little was actually being done for the education of poor children in Milton. There was absolutely no political will to do anything about it.

Thornton had listened quietly as Mr Bell explained the difficulties that Margaret had run into with the school. He knew that it was not political differences but the nexus between the manufacturers and the mayor that was the real problem. The mayor was a corruptible fellow and had a cosy little arrangement with the manufacturers, which is why the factory inspectors looked the other way while mill owners continued to employ children below the permissible age. And which is also why schooling for poor children had never received any attention. Before this week, Thornton had never spared a thought to schools or even been aware that such a problem existed. He didn't want to interfere in whatever arrangement the manufacturers had with the mayor—as far as he was concerned, what they did was their business. After thinking over the situation, it became clear to him that the only way forward was to bypass the mayor entirely. So Thornton had met with the new local MP, Mr Colthurst, who from all the accounts that Thornton had heard of him was a clever and honest man.

A week later, Mrs Hampers showed up at Crampton and announced that Mr Colthurst had expressed interest in reopening the old school in the manufacturing district. The school used to be partly funded by the state. The state provided the building while donations from the citizens was used to run the school. The school had been abandoned when donations started to dry up—which, not surprisingly, was around the same time that the mayor, who was now on his fifth term, got elected.

Margaret and Mr Bell went to see the old school building. Margaret found that it was called the old school for a reason—it _was_ old. But it was a school, with proper classrooms, and Margaret couldn't be happier.

Her initial excitement past, Margaret started inspecting the building and the rooms carefully. Mr Bell assured her that the structure itself was quite sound but the façade and the rooms obviously needed repairs. Margaret became thoughtful as she started planning ways to get the necessary funds to run the school. She didn't think the parents will send their children if the school asked for fee. The school in Princeton was proof of that. If the school was to succeed, it will have to provide free schooling. And free schooling would no doubt cost a lot of money—more than what can be secured through simple donations.

"Penny for your thoughts," Mr Bell brought Margaret out of her reverie.

She sighed aloud. "How are we going to arrange funds? Do you think we should talk to the mayor, at least make an attempt? We need his support. Without his backing, donations will not be forthcoming."

"There is no need to talk to that odious man," Mr Bell said as he wiped the dust off the bench so that they could sit down.

Margaret chuckled. "Do you think Mrs Hampers can bully everyone enough to get them to donate generously?"

"No, no. Although that would be a sight to behold and I wouldn't put it past her. What I meant was that you don't need donations to run the school. You can fund the school on your own," he said as he led Margaret to the bench that he had cleaned.

Margaret looked at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Ah! Well my dear, you never asked me how much money I am leaving you."

Margaret had not thought about it at all. She had assumed that it would be enough for her to continue to stay in Milton for as long as she wanted. Margaret still had enough of the Southerner left in her to feel awkward discussing money but she saw that Mr Bell was waiting for her to ask him.

"How much?" she asked.

"Thirty five thousand pounds in the bank and an additional fifteen thousand, at the present value of property in Milton," he said with a broad smile.

Margaret stared at him for a full minute before sitting down on the bench in a heap. Which was exactly the reaction he had been hoping for.

"I cannot," she finally found her voice. "I cannot accept it. It is too much."

"Oh, but it is already done," he said airily. "My attorney will be here tomorrow with the papers for you to sign."

"Mr Bell… I cannot!"

"Oh yes, you will. Your father and I talked about it. I have no family. Not even a beastly half-cousin. So I am afraid it is going to be you."

Mr Bell understood how passionate Margaret was about the school. He had thought that if Margaret did not meet with success, which had started to seem like a real possibility—until Mr Colthurst showed up—he wanted her to be able to simply start a school of her own. To that end, instead of naming Margaret as his sole beneficiary in his will as he had originally planned, he had asked his attorney to simply transfer the money and property in Margaret's name and appoint a financial adviser. As _feme sole_, Margaret would be at liberty to spend and manage the money as she thought fit. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing Margaret put the money to good use and of course, her reaction when she finds out was something he had been looking forward to.

"Mr Bell, you can help without transferring all it to me," Margaret said.

Mr Bell sat down next to her with a heavy sigh and was silent for a few moments. "Margaret, I had all this money with me for years and I am ashamed to admit it I never thought about doing anything useful with it. I was happy holed up in Oxford, surrounded by students and books but I never thought about a school. And I am certain that even Mrs Hampers who has a school of her own had never thought to help these unfortunate children. But you did. You convinced the school board to keep the school in Princeton open for this long. Nothing will give me greater satisfaction than watching you put the money to good use."

He turned to her and Margaret was surprised at how old and tired he suddenly looked. "Hale would have been very proud of you."

Margaret quietly looked away. Exhaling, Mr Bell squared his shoulders and changed back to the jolly old man. "So, it is all settled then. I am glad the timing worked out. I should hate for you to go to that fool of a mayor and waste your time."

He stood up and offered his hand. "Everything works out in the end, doesn't it?"

"Only if one has a Mr Bell," Margaret smiled at him.

The next day, the attorney came with a great many papers to be signed. Margaret told him that she wanted to use the money to run the school. She wanted to stay true to the idea of free schooling but she did not want to get involved in any of the maddening politics or have the school become the battleground between the mayor and Mr Colthurst or anyone else. Margaret wanted to know if there was a way to secure the school.

The attorney suggested that the best way to accomplish what Margaret wanted was to create a trust fund for the school along with an agreement from Mr Colthurst for the full use of the building. He explained to her how the interest from the money in the fund would help run the school. Margaret asked him to put the bulk of the money in the trust and the attorney set it up such that the money in the trust would be safe from any coverture.

And so it was done. Just like that.

Margaret narrated all of this to Andrew and Fanny when they came to visit her that week. Andrew, as he'd promised, had come back to Milton and met with Thornton. He told Thornton that he had decided to run for parliament from the Wiltshire constituency. Since his return to Wiltshire, Andrew had make it clear that he was not the prodigal son returning home nor was he the country squire of old. He had swept up the place with his unflagging energy and ideas. His approach was modern, a welcome change and just what the old county needed. He was certain to win, his position alone guaranteed it, but Andrew didn't want to get too confident.

So Thornton and Andrew had agreed that an engagement should take place as soon as the results of the elections were out, which would be three weeks from now. In the three days that he had been in Milton, Andrew had publically courted Fanny with the intention of putting an end to all the gossip. Whatever had been said about them was absolutely true after all—people just needed to know that Andrew had the approval of her family, which he now had.

The three of them were enjoying a wonderful afternoon at Crampton.

"Miss Hale, you must stop underplaying your own part in it," Andrew said when Margaret finished telling him about the school. "If it hadn't been for your persistence, there would not be any school. You got Mrs Hampers involved and you got Thornton to speak with Colthurst. And now you have—"

"Mr Thornton?" Margaret asked in surprise. "He spoke with Mr Colthurst?" Margaret had thought that it was Mrs Hampers who had pulled the necessary strings.

"Ah!" Fanny was grinning from ear to ear. "So John didn't tell you? How—"

"How do you know Mr Colthurst?" Margaret asked Andrew in a bid to distract Fanny. She had a rather dangerous gleam in her eyes.

"I had heard a lot about him in London. He is a rising member of parliament and I thought to pay him a visit."

A small smile played on Margaret's lips as she thought about Mr Thornton helping out with the school. Her smile turned thoughtful as she realised that the school that Mr Colthurst had agreed to help re-establish was in the manufacturing district—far away from Princeton and rather close to Marlborough Mill. Surely that was a co-incidence or did—

"Margaret," Fanny interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

Fanny leaned forward with such an innocent expression on her face that it could only mean mischief. "You never told us how you convinced John."

"About?" Margaret hedged.

"About us."

Margaret was sure Fanny wouldn't believe her if she told the truth. "Mr Thornton did not needed much convincing. He just needed some time to think about it," Margaret evaded.

"Oh, but he told me you talked to him," Fanny persisted.

If Mr Webster hadn't been sitting here, Margaret would have happily strangled her. Instead, she took a long sip of her tea. Fanny smiled prettily, waiting for her to be done. Margaret took another long sip. Fanny looked at Andrew.

"I refuse to enter the conversation," he said.

"Coward!" Fanny shot back.

"Or just wise. I am eternally grateful to Miss Hale for what she did. As for how she did it… well, she is certainly persuasive enough to accomplish such a feat."

Margaret mouthed a silent thank you at Andrew before covering her smile with the cup. But Fanny would not give up so easily.

"Not that I am not grateful. But really, what did you say?"

"I don't recall precisely," Margaret said.

"Do try."

Margaret took another sip. She decided to take the fight to the enemy camp. "I believe I requested Mr Thornton to reconsider his decision because …" she set down her cup "… it seemed quite obvious to me that you wouldn't hesitate to do something compromising enough to force his hands."

Fanny went a flaming red and stared at Margaret with an open mouth.

"I noticed that you did not contradict me," Margaret remarked with an arch smile after a moment of silence.

Andrew burst into laughter and got punched in the arm by Fanny. Margaret picked up her cup and sat back with a satisfied smile. It is not every day that one gets to best Fanny.

"If you were not my best friend …" Fanny shook a threatening finger at Margaret.

"And here I was thinking I had finally found two girls who did not want to claw each other," Andrew grinned.

* * *

For the next several days, Margaret was buzzing with activities and plans and even wore the indefatigable Mrs Hampers down with her enthusiasm. She relied on Mrs Hampers' extensive experience in managing and running schools. It amazed her how quickly, how easily things got done when one had money. The school building had been renovated, teachers interviewed and hired and classrooms readied—all within two weeks.

But getting the parents to send the children to school was not so easy. Margaret went to Princeton to talk to the families. People were out of work due to the closure of mills. They were forced to send their children to do odd jobs so that they wouldn't starve. Education was a luxury and even the promise of free education was not enough to sway them. For most of them, time spent in school was time lost. But Margaret did not give up. She coaxed, persuaded, cajoled. She managed to convince a good many and where she didn't, she suggested that they send the children for evening classes—all of which made the school somewhat expensive to run.

She discussed the matter with Mr Bell which gave him a brilliant idea—something that Hale had mentioned to him. It was an excellent way to get Thornton involved and Mr Bell was never more happy than planning ways to throw them together. He knew that Thornton was waiting for a respectful amount of time and while Mr Bell knew that it was right, he feared that he himself may be running out of time. His doctors in London wanted him to come over to try some new treatment and while Mr Bell was not hoping for any miracle, he wanted to see Margaret settled before he subjected himself to whatever his doctor had planned.

On the day that Mr Bell and Margaret were supposed to meet Thornton to discuss the business proposition, Wallis, Mr Bell's man-servant, came to Crampton with a note. Mr Bell had to go away on an urgent business but dear Margaret must talk to Thornton today. Margaret understood the proposal and should be able to explain it.

Margaret immediately wrote a note of her own reminding Mr Bell that till yesterday Margaret had no idea what a security was and she is still not sure she understands the concept fully. Surely Mr Bell wouldn't want dear Margaret to make a complete fool of herself. But when she handed the note to Wallis, she was told that Mr Bell would not be home to receive the note. After grumbling a good deal, Margaret set out for Marlborough Mills on her own.

As she neared the mill, Margaret tried to ignore the uneasy feeling knotting up in her stomach. The last time she had come here had been the day of the riot. She slowed down as the imposing green gates came into view. So much had changed since she last stood here. The gates were wide open. There was nothing to fear today—no angry workers, no soldiers. Just the usual bustle of a mill. She stood there a moment, gathering her nerve. No one could question her motives today. She was here on business with Mr Thornton. She could do this. Right?

Margaret didn't get the time to answer her question as she heard a friendly greeting.

"Miss Hale!" It was Williams, the overseer. "Been a while," he said smiling, doffing his cap at her.

"How do you do?" she smiled back. "Is Mr Thornton at the mill?"

"Aye! I will find him. You can wait in his office, if you don't mind," he said.

Margaret walked along with Williams into the yard. The mill was busy as ever, bustling with activity and workers. The energy of the place never failed to thrill her. Williams was telling her something but she suddenly found herself thoroughly puzzled and distracted. She could have sworn she could smell… food. It was quite odd and rather unlikely in a mill. But her eyes nevertheless darted around trying to locate the possible source. She quickly noticed a new structure on the far side of the property.

Williams followed her gaze. "That would be the dining hall," he informed her.

"For the workers?"

"Aye!"

Margaret changed direction and started walking towards the hall with Williams following close behind. She had never heard of a dining hall for workers on mill premises before this. She had so many questions.

"Started it some months back," he told her.

Margaret reached the hall and looked inside. It wasn't yet time for lunch so the hall was empty. A corner of the hall was partitioned off and she could see a few women working over stoves.

"Was this Mr Thornton's idea?" she asked astonished.

He frowned thinking a bit. "I suppose. He suggested that we could save money by buying things wholesale and cooking in large quantities. Some of the workers came up with a scheme and he agreed."

"So who pays for the food?"

"We do. Mr Thornton orders the provisions wholesale and provides the space. And enjoys an occasional meal with us."

Margaret looked at Williams, the surprise written plainly on her face. The humble dining room with its simple wooden benches and tables was worlds away from the lavish dinner that she had attended at his house.

"That's right," Williams replied seeing her reaction. "Hot-pot is his favourite."

Margaret could feel immense pride brimming within her. She was so unbelievably proud of him for suggesting a dining hall, for making the effort to befriend his workers, for helping them without hurting their pride. Which reminded her—

"Don't the workers find it awkward? I mean wouldn't his presence be a restraint on the conversation," she asked, too curious to care that she was being terribly inquisitive.

Williams looked around awkwardly.

"Or do they abuse the masters on non-hot-pot days," she asked with a small laugh.

But Williams merely cleared his throat without replying.

"They abuse me to my face and I return the favour," came the answer from behind her.

Margaret stood stone still for a moment, embarrassed beyond words at being caught talking about him with his overseer.

"Isn't that right, Williams?" Thornton asked. She could hear the laughter in his voice.

"Right, sir," Williams said and hurried away.

Margaret turned around sheepishly to face Thornton. His eyes were twinkling with delight and mischief at having caught her and that she had come to his mill after such a long time.

"I am sorry but I was—" she began.

"It's alright," he waved off her apology. "And to answer your question, the men tolerate me well enough. I am getting to know some of them, and they talk pretty freely before me," he said leading her back to the yard.

Margaret was so absurdly happy to see and hear all this that she couldn't think of an appropriate enough response other than to channel it into humour. "Airing out grievances over hot-pot? Well, I am sure I have never heard of a more sound business principle."

Thornton glanced at her and saw the teasing look on her face. He smiled quietly, enjoying her ribbing.

Emboldened, she began repeating his logic back to him, unconsciously imitating his voice slightly, "I mean, one cannot ignore the advantages of having well-fed, happy workers. Happy workers will be productive workers. Although," she scrunched her nose slightly, "too much good food can make them sluggish and they may doze off. But, on the other hand, they will be loyal to the mill and less inclined to participate in strikes."

He played along. "Absolutely."

"But there is no need for it to fall into a charity. That wouldn't do at all," she stopped walking and turned to him. "And there is _absolutely_ no need to make a philanthropic fuss about this dinner scheme—this is business after all," she said with a serious, practical expression but ruined the effect with an impish grin at the last moment.

"I see that we understand each other perfectly," Thornton smiled down at her, instinctively leaning in closer.

"Right," Margaret said weakly, leaning slightly back, a bit flustered under his heady gaze.

"What brings you here?" he asked straightening up.

"A business matter," she said.

"A business matter?" he repeated with some surprise. "Is it about the school?"

"No. I have a business proposition for you," she said.

Thornton regarded her silently for a moment. "Well then, will you wait in my office? I will be there in a few minutes."

Williams materialised out of nowhere and took her to the office while Thornton went into one of the mill buildings.

Margaret was showed into a room that she couldn't describe other than that it looked like a lot of work got done here. She had never been inside anyone's office so she had no idea if it was different or same as others. The room was dominated by a large desk on which a lot of paper and correspondence were kept in piles. One of the walls was lined with shelves, stacked high with ledgers and files and books. There was a window behind the desk, which she guessed must overlook the mill yard. There was a door on the right wall, slightly ajar through which the steady hum of machines could be heard. She knew she should sit down and wait but her curiosity won out again and she walked to the door. The door opened out to a small balcony—a sort of raised platform—that provided a commanding view of the large hall below. The hall was lined with rows and rows of looms. Some sort of belts were connected to the looms from the ceiling and seemed to help spin the wheels. She tried to compare the looms with the Jacquard loom that she had seen at the Great Exhibition, but there was no comparison. These looms were completely different.

Margaret stood on the balcony taking in the view. It was fascinating and somewhat dizzying to watch. The needles and bars on the looms seemed to move in perfect unison and at great speed. The air seemed charged with power. As she leaned forward, she put her hand on the railing. She could feel the vibrations produced by the machines travel up her arm, raising goose bumps in its wake. The sensation was thrilling.

Margaret did not hear Thornton enter the office. It was only when he stood next to her on the balcony that she became aware of his presence. She quickly withdrew her hand from the railing.

"I really can't seem to help my curiosity today," she said. "I had no idea this is what it would look like."

Thornton smiled in understanding and motioned her to enter the office. He closed the door to the balcony to shut out the sound.

He took his place across the desk. "Since this is a business matter," he explained, but his eyes were smiling.

"Of course," Margaret said sitting down. On the way to the mill, she had rehearsed in her head what she was going to say. She hoped she could get it all out and explain her proposition well. He was clearly a busy man and she didn't want to waste his time.

"I wish Mr Bell were here to explain it properly," she admitted. "He was to accompany me today but something important came up."

"You don't need Mr Bell to explain," Thornton assured her and waited for her to begin. He couldn't begin to imagine what business proposition she might have for him but he was, of course, all ears.

Margaret took a deep breath and began. "I have some money in the bank presently earning very little interest. My financial advisers tell me that if I were to invest it in a good business, I could get a much better rate of interest. Mr Bell told me that you had once considered acquiring and restarting one of the mills that had been given up. If you are still interested in buying the mill, I would like to invest."

Thornton looked at her quietly for some time. The only way Mr Bell would have known about his plan was if Mr Hale had told him about it. He remembered telling Mr Hale about the difficulty in finding investors. He knew that Mr Bell was remarkably unsubtle about wanting to see them together but he was surprised that he would allow Margaret to handle such important matters entirely on her own.

"What do you think?" Margaret asked, with large hopeful eyes—which Thornton tried to ignore because this was business.

"This would be a substantial investment, you understand that," he said.

Thornton made a few mental calculations. He may have been able to acquire that mill for cheap five months ago but now given the rise in property value, the landlord will likely demand near to the original value. That along with the repairs to the building, purchase of new looms, raw material, wages… He pulled a piece of paper and picked up the quill.

"How much were you thinking of investing?" he asked.

"How much do you need?" Margaret asked automatically.

Thornton immediately looked up from the paper at her question, frowning slightly and wondering once again at Mr Bell sending her alone for this meeting.

Margaret wasn't sure what exactly she had expected to happen in the meeting other than to get his agreement. She had been so busy worrying about explaining her part of the proposition that she hadn't thought about the questions he may have. When Mr Bell had explained the idea, he hadn't mentioned any exact amount. But Mr Thornton's reaction was starting to worry her. Maybe if she rephrased the question.

"I mean, if you can give me an estimate. There is some thirty thousand in the bank. Would it be enough?"

Thornton slowly dropped the quill in the inkwell and sat back in his chair.

"You should not be investing everything in one business and especially a new venture. It is highly risky. Trade hasn't picked up that much. What if the mill doesn't succeed?"

Margaret had been assured of his ability to make a success out of pretty much anything, so she was somewhat perplexed by the direction the conversation was taking. But what he said made sense. She thought about it for a bit.

"What if I were to seek some form of security, wouldn't the investment be secure then," she asked.

Thornton felt himself smiling in admiration. She certainly didn't need Mr Bell. "True. But why do you really want to invest," he asked.

"For the school. We set up a trust fund for it. The interest will go to school but the bank pays less than two per cent. We need to be able to expand the school in the future. Also if you were to start a second mill, you will be able to offer employment to a lot of workers. They can then send their children to the school instead of to work."

Thornton nodded thoughtfully and glanced down at the paper in front of him.

She sat quietly, studying his face, trying to find some clue there. Was he going to decline the proposition? Mr Bell had been quite confident that he would accept.

He suddenly looked up, seeming to have made up his mind about it. "You cannot be the sole investor, I wouldn't advice it and neither will your financial advisers. The trade is still a bit uncertain. But you can provide the initial investment. It will be enough to get the mill started but not at its full operating capacity or with full workforce. But it will be enough to fulfil small orders. It will be a start."

He paused making sure Margaret was following him.

"The reopening of the mill will attract other investors. Mr Latimer had expressed his interest but he didn't want to invest so soon after the riot. There are a few others as well. You can invest more later when things become stable."

Margaret knew she needed to outgrow it but she really couldn't help stiffen slightly at the mention of the name Latimer. "Are you sure about other investors?"

"Yes. Eventually. Once something starts to look promising, everyone will want to join in. Investors are a bit like sheep," he explained and then amended with a smile, "Present company excluded."

She grinned in acknowledgement. "So do you agree to the proposal?"

"Yes, I accept."

"What happens now?"

"I need to determine the exact amount I will need you to invest. Your attorney will draw up a proposal and will want to negotiate rather hard about the security of your investment and I will want to negotiate about the rate of interest. Once both of us are satisfied with the terms, we'll sign the formal agreement. Your attorneys are in London I believe?"

"Yes. Do I need to be there?"

"For the negotiation?"

She nodded.

"No. I will be going to London next week to set up suppliers and other details. I can iron out the particulars with your attorneys then. I will need to speak with Mr Bell though."

"Will they negotiate hard?" Margaret didn't want the plan to fall through.

"Depends on what instructions you give them. But you should let them do their job. They are watching out for your interests," he said.

Thornton couldn't help be amused at the unusual situation. Normally, he wouldn't be having such a conversation with an investor—first, cautioning them against investing too much and then, recommending that they negotiate hard against him. Had Mr Bell come to him with the proposal or sent her financial adviser—which he should ideally have—Thornton would have treated him the same as he would any other investor. But he had sent Margaret alone and Thornton and his much-vaunted business sense had been bought down by a pair of green eyes. Mr Bell, he realised with a small laugh, was shrewder than he gave him credit for. Still the proposition worked out nicely. He would get to start the mill and she would get to run her school.

"You do realise that you are investing—directly funding—a capitalist enterprise?" he couldn't help pointing out.

"And do you realise that you will be directly supporting a charitable institution?" Margaret returned.

He smiled in acknowledgement. But not entirely willing to concede her point, he said, "Although 'directly supporting' in my case might be a bit of a stretch. What my investors do with the returns is up to them."

She shook her head, not willing to concede either. "You are directly supporting the school. Your success with the mill will help run the school. Just as your success with Mr Colthurst made the school possible in the first place."

Thornton looked surprised that she knew about his meeting with Colthurst.

"Mr Webster," she explained smugly.

"I wouldn't have spoken to Colthurst if you hadn't taken an interest and I would not be 'directly supporting' the school, if you hadn't come with the proposition," he reminded her.

Gah, there was no arguing with the man! Margaret slammed back in her chair.

"Must you always have the last word?" she asked in exasperation.

"I am afraid so," he said with a small grin.

Thornton stood up and came around. "Would you like a tour of the mill?" he asked.

"No," she said mostly to be cross.

"All investors do."

"But we have already established that I am not a sheep."

Thornton laughed out at that and Margaret realised that this was the second time she had seen him laugh—truly laugh. And the deep, husky sound of it thrilled her down to her very toes. She was supposed to look peeved but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"I surrender," he held up his hands, smiling.

The mill was laid out in the Arkwright style with large unbroken halls. Margaret was interested in the looms and so they spent most of the time in the hall. The looms were steam operated and Thornton described how they worked. He was surprised that she remembered his description of the Jacquard loom. Margaret asked a few questions but mostly she was happy to listen to him. He had a clear and wonderful way of explaining complex things.

As they stepped out into the yard, one of the foreman requested for some instruction. Margaret politely stood to one side as Thornton talked to the man. It only took a couple of minutes, but when he turned around to look for Margaret, he found that she was talking to some of the girls on their break.

Watching her, Thornton didn't think he had ever felt happier. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so freely. Oh, this was better than any courtship. Fanny, meddlesome as always, had wanted to know if he was planning to court Margaret. He had been somewhat surprised by the idea because he had not considered it at all. The way he saw it, their whole acquaintance had been a sort of long courtship. He did not know what else to call it. Courtship was for people who wanted to know each other and they were way past that. They had fought and argued freely, they knew each other's views and opinions, they knew things about each other that most couples took years to understand. He was not that conceited to believe that he knew everything about her but he knew with absolute certainty that they were perfect for each other—even when they fought and argued, it had a sense of rightness. His breath caught every time he saw her and he was beginning to suspect that it was going to be that way for the rest of his life. One would imagine that after more than a year of knowing and seeing her some of the thrill would wear off, slightly.

But even now, after spending nearly an hour in her company, he was still utterly mesmerised by her easy grace, the sound of her laugh, the way her hair caught sunlight, revealing unexpected tinges of red. He wondered how her hair will look released from all the pins. Her hair wasn't curly, he could tell that much. The length he could only guess. They always looked like they would not stay up and tumble down any moment. They looked heavy and soft. The kind you want to sink your hands into to pull her closer. Thornton lowered his gaze to the ground and returned his thoughts to the matter at hand.

They have known each for such a long time that they didn't need a courtship. Mr Hale had known about his feelings and he had given him permission and frankly, that was all that he needed. What he wanted to know was how did Margaret feel. He hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with her in the last few months but he knew he was not being fanciful in thinking that something between them had changed and shifted. She no longer hesitated or shied away—whatever reservations she had had about them, she had slowly, quietly overcome them. There was an openness, a willingness about her now—nothing overt or obvious but it was there all the same.

He looked up at her fleetingly and at that moment she looked at him as well and smiled—her lips curving slightly more to one side. It was a smile with a small apology in it for making him wait. Before this moment, he hadn't even be consciously aware that he knew all her different smiles and the subtle meaning behind each of them. He gave her a reassuring nod and she smiled more fully before returning to the conversation.

And suddenly Thornton realised that he no longer needed to wait. That perhaps the time to wait was over. Before he could catch his breath from the force of that realisation, Margaret made her way back to him.

"It's been a while since I met the girls," Margaret offered apologetically.

Thornton silently escorted her to the gate. Margaret noticed that he was looking ahead, seemingly deep in thought.

"You are not having second thoughts about the proposition?" she asked.

He immediately snapped out of it. "Why would you think that?"

"You seemed… preoccupied."

"I was," he admitted. "But I was not thinking about the proposition."

"Then?"

He stopped walking and turned fully towards her. He paused looking at her intently, thinking hard about something. Margaret never fared very well under his intense gaze and she could feel the heat spread across her face.

"I will see you next week?" he asked abruptly returning to his usual manner.

Margaret was completely thrown by the sudden change in conversation and his mood.

"The engagement dinner," he reminded her.

"Yes, of course," Margaret said recovering her wits. "I imagine it would quite a party."

"No, actually. Fanny said she wanted a small affair. But she will no doubt make up for it in the wedding," he said with obvious affection.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Williams waiting for him, no doubt requiring some instructions. He had probably noticed Williams as well but he didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to get back. But she could no longer demand his time.

"I should let you get back to work. I have trespassed on your time enough," she said.

"But you were here on business," he pointed out.

"Yes, but now I must get back," she said extending her hand.

He didn't argue further. He smiled down at her proffered hand and took it.

"I never had a more satisfactory meeting with an investor before," he confessed.

"I am very pleased to hear it," she smiled back.

Margaret fully intended to make her farewell but instead she heard herself say, "Would you like to see how the school is coming up?"

"Like a tour?" he asked, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Something like that."

"Sure. Next week?"

"Wouldn't you be awfully busy—you are going to London, then there's Fanny's dinner. Perhaps you should visit the week after that."

He considered it for a moment.

"Actually, that would be perfect," he said with a secret smile.

As Margaret made her way back home, she couldn't help wonder about the meaning behind that smile.


	35. Chapter 35

Margaret eagerly waited for Mr Bell to join her for tea that evening. She couldn't wait to tell him about the meeting but to her surprise, Mr Bell didn't turn up. She reasoned that he might still be away on whatever business had required his immediate attention.

But Mr Bell didn't come the next day for breakfast or for lunch. Somewhat puzzled and a bit concerned, Margaret went to Mr Bell's lodgings.

She was greeted by Wallis, who seemed surprised by her visit. Upon inquiring, she was told that Mr Bell was resting. Margaret received this news in silence. It was hard to imagine the brisk and energetic Mr Bell being tired enough to require a full day of rest. A familiar dread started to settle in her heart.

"Is he ill?"

Wallis had been Mr Bell's valet and his man-Friday for decades and he knew that his master was seriously ill. He wanted to protect Mr Bell's privacy but he also wanted to make sure that he received proper treatment. Something which Mr Bell had been refusing. But if there was one person who might be able to put the right kind of pressure on Mr Bell, it would be Miss Hale.

And so with the hope that Mr Bell will not be too annoyed with him for acting out of place, he told Margaret everything.

Mr Bell was sleeping on the large divan in his personal sitting room. He stirred the moment Wallis opened the door to let Margaret inside. That Margaret was here and with that look of her face could only mean one thing.

"I ought to dismiss you, Wallis," Mr Bell said, sitting up properly.

"Right, sir," Wallis assented as though it was not the first time he had been threatened with dismissal. Then, turning to Margaret, he asked, "Miss Hale, shall I bring in some tea?"

Margaret nodded and sat on the chair next to the divan.

"How did the meeting with Thornton go?" Mr Bell asked.

"He agreed to the proposal," Margaret said without much enthusiasm. She didn't want to discuss her meeting any more. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because of this," he tapped her nose with his finger, indicating her sombre mood.

"Why won't you go to London to seek treatment?"

"It wouldn't do much good, my dear."

"How do you know without trying it? Wallis told me they've been asking you to visit them."

"I _am_ going to dismiss him," Mr Bell grumbled.

As if on cue, Wallis appeared with the tea service. After setting it on the table, he cleared his throat, "If I may be so bold…"

Mr Bell lifted an eyebrow and regarded Wallis.

"… I believe Miss Hale is right," with that he went out of the room.

"He is quite devoted to you," Margaret said as she poured out the tea.

"My very own Dixon," Mr Bell remarked dryly.

"Then you must know that you will get no peace till you visit your doctor."

Mr Bell sighed deeply. The prognosis had not been very good and there was no reason to doubt it. The doctors will try some new-fangled treatment to prolong whatever time he had left.

"You want to deliver me to the clutches of overpaid, self-important doctors," he said pulling on an aggrieved look.

"Mr Bell," Margaret sighed in mild exasperation. She couldn't believe he was taking this so lightly. "Will you please meet with your doctors? For me? Please?"

Mr Bell slumped back softly. He agreed—much to Margaret's and Wallis' relief.

* * *

The week passed by quickly. Margaret visited Mr Bell every day to check on him and was glad to see that he was greatly improved from his brief spell of weakness. Mr Bell told her that before leaving for London, Thornton had visited him to go over some of the details of the investment. As her guardian, Thornton needed to check with him once before speaking with her attorneys.

Margaret was really looking forward to the reopening of the second mill. She had requested Nicholas to seek work with Mr Thornton. Nicholas, despite being a good weaver, had not be taken back after the strike. He had sought work at other mills but had been turned away. He had been doing odd jobs since then but had been recently spending most of his time at the alehouse. When Margaret found about it from Katie, she suggested that he ask Mr Thornton for work. Nicholas didn't think that Thornton would take a Union man on, but upon her urging had agreed to try to speak with him directly instead of the overseer.

"It would tax my pride but I'll do it. Yo'd been good to my Bess. But I don't know what yo' hope, miss. There'll be more chance o' getting milk out of a flint," he had told her.

Later that night as Margaret went to the kitchen to get herself the customary glass of milk, she couldn't help smile as she thought about Nicholas' rather colourful description. Milk out of a flint, indeed.

She had just put on the saucepan when she heard a knock on the back door. It was rather late. She opened the door a crack and cautiously peeked outside. A man was standing on the doorstep. He was wearing a heavy coat and his face was partially obscured by his flat cap.

"Is this the Hale's?" the man asked.

"What business is it," Margaret asked, wondering who would be so disrespectful to come so late.

The man did not reply and continued looking at Margaret.

"Please come in the morning," Margaret said closing the door.

The man put out his hand to stop her. "Don't you know me, Maggie?"

Margaret gasped in shock as she finally recognised who it was.

Fred stepped out of the shadows and entered the room. He took the doorknob from Margaret's hand and closed the door.

Her initial shock was nothing compared to the shock she now felt when she finally saw him in the light. Margaret was so stunned, her mind so blank, all she could do was dumbly shake her head in denial. Denial because this man, who stood in front of her, who spoke in her brother's voice, cannot be Fred. He was so changed. He was so completely changed! She frantically searched his face for some trace of her brother.

"Not the welcome I was hoping for," he remarked wryly.

Margaret continued looking at him, half wanting to embrace him, half wary of him, but unable to move an inch.

He stepped closer. "Maybe it is the beard," he said with a rueful smile.

"Fred!" she finally managed to choke out.

"Miss?" Katie had just entered the kitchen. She looked alarmed, her eyes darting from a distraught Margaret to the stranger standing in the kitchen.

Fred's head immediately snapped in her direction. "Did you not receive my letter?" he asked Margaret, his eyes growing suspicious instantly.

Margaret shook her head.

"Then I must have come before it," he said frowning.

Margaret collected herself and went to Katie. "It is alright. He is… he is my brother. Frederick."

Katie looked from Margaret to Fred, digesting this news.

"I will explain later but you must not breathe a word of it anyone. Promise me," Margaret continued.

Katie was still looking warily at Fred.

"Please. It's a matter of life and death," Margaret entreated, grabbing both of Katie's hands.

Katie slowly nodded. "What about the cook?" she asked. The cook lived with them and she would be the first person to wake up.

"We will talk to her in the morning. But you must ask Martha to take a few days off. She's been saying once or twice that she should like to go see her mother."

Katie nodded again. "I shall have the guest room ready," she said and collected Fred's travel bag and went upstairs.

Margaret went to the stove and added more milk to the saucepan. She took out some food and began heating it. Fred shrugged out of his coat and went to build the fire in the hearth. A strange sort of awkwardness had come over them. This is Fred, Margaret kept telling—reminding—herself. The person she loved more than life itself. But now suddenly, inexplicably, she couldn't even speak with him. She supposed the moment to greet him and welcome him had passed and all she had done was stare at him like she had seen a ghost.

"You must be hungry," she said attempting some sort of conversation.

He nodded. "Yes."

"We have some meat pie," she said.

"That would be nice," he said, dusting his hands and getting up from the fire-side. "You trust the servants?"

"Completely. They won't talk," she assured him. "I will have the cook collect the supplies directly from the grocer's, so no one will visit. How long will you be here?"

"I leave tomorrow night."

"So soon!" She turned around.

"I didn't come to England alone. Do you remember the Lieutenant I once wrote to you about, Arnold?" When Margaret nodded, he continued, "He was able to arrange for a safe passage. He is in London to talk to some lawyer about our chances. We will meet up in Liverpool and then sail from there."

"Why are you not in London with the lawyer then?"

"Because nothing is going to come from it."

"But if Arnold thinks there is a chance—"

"Do you think that if there was the slightest chance, the slightest hope of me clearing my name, I would not have tried it?"

When Margaret didn't reply, Fred sat down, resignation and defeat evident in every inch of his posture. They were silent for a long time.

He exhaled wearily. "It is hopeless, Maggie."

"Then why did you take such a risk in coming here?"

"Because I wanted to see you. I was sick with worry about you. Why didn't you go to London? Why are you still here?" Fred demanded.

"I don't want to go to London. This is my home now," Margaret replied, turning back to the stove. She was not in the mood for this conversation.

"You cannot live alone. Do you have any idea how improper it is?" Fred persisted.

"Don't you start on me now—"

"As your brother, it is my duty to stop you from doing foolish things. How could Mr Bell suggest such an idea? How did Aunt Shaw agree to this nonsense?" he asked.

Aunt Shaw hadn't agreed. Quite the contrary. She had been outraged and horrified. Margaret had received a letter from her a few weeks ago. She had told Margaret exactly what she thought about her living arrangement. She went on to question Mr Bell's judgement in allowing her to remain in Milton. She demanded that Margaret return to London as soon as she received the letter. Margaret, of course, intended to do nothing of the sort. But she will probably have to make a small trip to London next month when her Aunt returned to England and explain her decision.

"For God's sake, Maggie! You are too young to live alone!"

"Fred, I will not be packed off to London!" she said fiercely. "Staying here was my decision. I want to live here. I help with the school. I have friends here. Do not ask me to give it up."

He looked at her a long moment. He knew a brick wall when he saw one but he would be damned if didn't try to talk some sense into her in the morning.

Agitated and upset, Margaret returned her attention to the stove. She poured out the milk into two mugs and brought it to the table along with some bread and a large slice of the pie that she had heated.

Fred took the mug and paused when he saw that it was milk.

"You still drink it," he asked smiling.

"Every night," she said, but not quite smiling. She was still too overwrought for that.

As she watched Fred drink from his mug, the memory of their last evening in Helstone came back to her unbidden. Fred had worn his Navy uniform and she remembered looking up to him with such admiring awe. They had sat in the kitchen, late into the night, on this very table, gulping down milk and full of hopes and excitement about all the adventures and the brilliant career that awaited Fred.

Margaret put her mug on the table and buried her face in her hand and suddenly, without warning, broke down sobbing.

"Maggie!" Fred was next to her in an instant.

She could hardly believe that Fred was here—miraculously here—and safe. But the reunion was so different from how she had imagined it. She barely recognised him. If she met him on the street, she would not have known that it was Fred. Four years is a long time but she had not expected such a change—the happy, young Lieutenant she had bid farewell to was gone and in his place a sad, weary man had returned.

Still sobbing, she threw her arms around her brother—finally giving him the welcome he had expected, showing him just how much he was loved and how greatly he was missed.

"Stop it now," he said, wiping her tears.

"I am so sorry. I did not recognise you at first."

"It's been a long time," he said, sitting on the bench next to her.

"But you recognised me!"

"Because you look exactly the same, you silly goose. Except for..." he waved his hand around her hair. The last time he had seen her she used to wear her hair in a loose, thick plait but now she wore her hair up.

She found herself smiling as she dried her tears. The awkwardness between them had lifted completely and they fell back into the old camaraderie. They stayed up late, sharing the pie. Margaret had so much to tell him—she told him about how much their father had enjoyed being a teacher and how happy he had been in Milton. She told him about that last evening and how Papa couldn't stop talking about Fred and all his mischief. She also told him about Mr Bell's generosity and her work at the school. It was way past midnight, when they finally retired.

The next morning, Fred came down to the kitchen and to a breakfast consisting entirely of his favourite dishes. He watched the flurry of activity from the door—it felt good to remember what home felt like, what it smelt like. He felt happier and lighter than he had in ages.

"Ladies." Smiling, he tipped a finger to his head in a charming little salute.

Katie blinked like an owl and the cook froze in place, mouth open. Neither responded but continued staring at him. Margaret's rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, bringing them back to reality.

Completely unaware of his effect on the two, he got himself a plate and proceeded to eat quickly and quietly.

"Thank you," he gave a grateful smile to the cook. He had polished off everything on his plate.

The cook nodded jerkily before turning back to the boiling pot. Margaret had spoken to the cook early in the morning about Fred and the cook had promised to keep his visit a secret.

After breakfast, Margaret asked Fred to sit with her in the dining room. She explained that the room received good light in the morning. Her sketchbook and pencils were kept ready on the table.

Fred sat down on the chair that she indicated. He was used to sitting for Margaret. Back then, he had been impatient, barely able to sit still for more than a few minutes. Now he sat quietly as Margaret studied him.

In his youth, Fred had been boyishly handsome with a charming and occasionally, roguish smile. He had been spirited and full of mischief but was also remarkably kind and easy-going. He knew exactly what to say and could put anyone at ease. Mr Webster possessed the exact same quality and temperament, which is why Margaret had felt such an immediate connection to him. But Fred had changed now. He was still young and handsome but age had settled prematurely on him. His face hadn't become hard, as one would have expected. It had grown lean and showed deep lines, but it had also acquired a richness of expression, a mellowness that reminded her of their father. The short beard complimented him, Margaret realised as she studied his face in the morning light.

"What?" Fred asked when he saw a small smile play on her lips.

"You look like a poet with that beard," Margaret answered.

Fred chuckled. "A wanderer, I should think."

His laugh and smile were also different now, Margaret realised. After her little emotional fit last night, she had been seized with the urge to draw him. She knew that in drawing him she would be somehow able to find Fred.

They sat in silence while Margaret drew, frequently looking up to study him.

"So how are things otherwise?" he asked after a while. "Any lovesick fool I need to scare off?"

"None."

"Any suitor I need to know about?" he asked watching her carefully.

Fred smiled when Margaret didn't reply but continued drawing more determinedly. In her letters, the only male acquaintances she had mentioned were a Mr Webster and a Mr Thornton. Webster she had described as a friend and Thornton as father's friend.

When Margaret didn't reply, he asked, "Who is the fellow in your sketchbook?"

Margaret's head shot up.

"I looked for you here before I came to the kitchen. Your sketchbook was lying on the table," he explained with a shrug. "So, who is he?"

"Mr Thornton," Margaret looked down, trying to hide the flush on her face.

"May I?" Fred asked all politeness as he extended his hand for the sketchbook. "I hadn't got a good look."

"You shouldn't have looked in the first place," Margaret gave him a murderous glare.

But there was no use hiding it now. She slid the sketchbook over the table toward him. Fred pulled the book closer and leaned over it, examining the portrait. He turned a few pages, studying the drawings. Margaret watched him nervously for a reaction.

"He sat for you?" he asked, still looking at the portrait.

Margaret could feel her face heat up from shame. "No," she said fiddling with her pencils.

Fred shot her a look.

"He has a terrifying scowl," he said as he slid the sketchbook back to her.

"He does not!" Margaret said hotly, snatching back the book.

She quickly turned the pages to see what could have prompted that remark. Looking up, she saw that Fred was shaking with laughter.

The fiend!

He had baited her and she fell right for it. She scowled at Fred but couldn't hold it for long. His laugher was infectious and it had been such a very long time since they had teased each other. She gave up and laughed at her own foolishness.

"So this Mr Thornton, who does not have a terrifying scowl, what does he do?" he asked.

"He owns a cotton mill," Margaret said picking up her pencils again.

In another life, Fred would not have been too pleased about it—a Northerner and a manufacturer. But after all that he had seen and been through, he knew better.

"He used to read with Papa. They were friends," Margaret continued.

"Did he ask father?"

Margaret was not sure if Mr Thornton had spoken to Papa. If they had, Papa would have mentioned it to her. But Papa had asked her about him and had encouraged her. So perhaps they had talked.

"I am not sure," she replied.

Fred was not satisfied with the answer. "Has he asked you?"

Margaret hesitated again. There was no way to answer the question without talking about the riot.

Fred caught her hesitation. "What are you hiding?"

"I am not …" she swallowed.

"Maggie, please," he said, growing impatient with her evasive, half-answers. "Just tell me."

Margaret told him all that had happened. The riot, the gossip, the proposal, the rejection, her belated explanation for the rejection, and Mr Thornton telling her that he was willing to wait for her. She, of course, left out quite a lot of details—her fears about Ann Latimer, the conversation about Fanny and Mr Webster, Mrs Thornton's visit. But she told him how much Papa had liked Mr Thornton, how he and his family had stood by her after the riot and during Papa's illness, and how he had helped with the school.

Fred listened to the whole story, his eyes fixed on her face. Thornton sounded like a decent fellow but her judgement was bound to be clouded. It was more than obvious that she was in love with the man.

He suddenly stood up and began pacing the room. His sister was about to make the most important decision of her life and all he could do was hope and pray that the fellow would be worthy of her. He wanted to meet this man, take his measure. He tried to take comfort in the fact that if father had allowed Thornton to visit, he must have approved of the match. He knew that he ought to have a bit more faith but he was a man hardened by experience. He didn't trust people easily any more. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Fred, what's wrong?"

"I suppose there is no way I can meet him without involving him," he asked.

"He is… he is a magistrate," Margaret said half to herself, wondering how did that pertinent detail escape her.

Fred looked disbelievingly at Margaret, thinking the same thing.

"You think he will turn me in?" he asked.

"No," she said quietly and then with more confidence, "He would not. Not if he knew the true facts of your case."

"He would be charged with dereliction of duty, you realise that," he pointed out.

To her immense relief, Margaret realised something else as well, "You can't meet him. He is in London right now. To finalise the agreement about my investment."

"That takes care of that then," he said, sitting back in his chair, relieved but also disappointed. "Does he know about me?"

Margaret shook her head. "There was never any need to tell him."

"You must tell him about me. Tell him you have a family still."

Margaret nodded. Fred paused and added with uncharacteristic fierceness, "Tell him he has your brother to answer to."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fred," she said with a small laugh and went back to her work. "I can take care of myself."

Fred was about to tell her that he meant it. She was the only family he had left and even though he may be far away, but if Thornton broke her heart or made her unhappy in any way, he would hear from Fred. But as he looked at his sister, who was still engrossed in her drawing and smiling in that confident, assured away of hers, he was suddenly hit by the realisation that he was doing her a great disservice. In all the years that he had been away, he had thought of her as the fifteen year old girl he had left behind. That image was so deeply engraved in his mind that even now he was not seeing the woman in front of him. Maggie had grown up in his absence. She was not a young girl any more. She was living independently in a strange new city. She took her own decisions. She had own life and she has chosen this city and this man.

He remembered how father had been surprised when he had told him about his decision to join the Navy. Even though father had his reservations about it, he had not stopped him. He will have to allow Maggie to do the same. He had no right to take that away from her. He will have to respect her decisions and choices, wherever those decisions may lead.

"What about you?" she asked suddenly.

"What about me?"

"Messrs Barbour, is that where you work?"

It was now his turn to tell her. Fred worked for the Barbours on small assignments. Mr Barbour had recently expressed interest in taking Fred on as a permanent employee. Qualified men who can speak English and who knew a great deal about sea routes were hard to find. But Fred had not taken up the offer, he was not sure if he would remain in Cadiz. He didn't stay very long in one place, although he was now beginning to wonder if it was simply force of habit. The English Navy had stopped actively pursuing the mutineers. Unless, of course, they stepped on English soil or any of the colonies and were recognised. He was safe in Spain, but he had wandered for so long, had looked over his shoulders for so long that he found it hard to settle down or believe that he was truly safe.

Fred didn't want to burden Margaret with his indecision, so instead, he distracted her with vivid, lively accounts of the life he had led in Mexico, South America, and elsewhere.

The day passed by with much laughter and with a superb lunch by the cook. But the day passed by quickly too. As night approached, Margaret asked Katie to get a cab as there would be less risk of Fred being seen. They got into the cab the moment it arrived, before any of the neighbours noticed it. Margaret asked the coachman to stop at the cemetery for a few minutes before taking them to the train station.

The night was clear and silent. Margaret walked in front of Fred and led him to their father's grave. The grave and headstone were unostentatious compared to others in the cemetery. The grave was a bit away and on slightly higher ground, shaded by a large oak tree. Margaret knelt next to the grave and removed the dead flowers. She will come in the morning tomorrow and place fresh ones.

Fred stood quietly, looking at the headstone. The headstone bore the name and the date of birth and death. Margaret went to his side and slipped her hand into his, hugging his arm.

"Let's go. We don't want to be late," he said after a while.

Margaret held him back. "Promise me you will take up the position with Mr Barbour."

Fred was about to say something, but she stopped him, "You are safe in Spain. You can have a new life there. What happened is in the past, Fred. We need to look to the future."

Fred regarded his sister with a slow smile, "When did you become so wise, little girl."

"Fred," she said his name in mild warning and exasperation, not ready to be distracted a second time. "Promise me."

Sighing, he nodded. "I promise. And you need to promise that you will tell me every worry you have. If I take up the position—"

"_When_ you take up the position," Margaret corrected.

Fred rolled his eyes heavenward, "_When_ I take up the position, we should be able to write more often."

"Agreed!" She gave his arm a tight squeeze. "Let's go now."

The station was deserted when they reached it. Margaret went into the booking office and got the ticket. The departing platform was empty and dark. The gas lights hanging overhead had been turned dim. They stood in an alcove next to the waiting room. A late train from London had just departed the station, leaving behind a cloud of eerie white smoke that stood out against the ornate black cast-iron columns and webs that held up the high glass roof.

Fred had seen a lone passenger get down from the train on the other side of the platform and not wanting to expose Margaret turned her inside.

Thornton had taken the last train to Milton. His business in London had concluded that afternoon and he thought it best to return by the evening train instead of taking the morning train and losing half of tomorrow on the journey.

He had seen two figures standing on the opposite platform—a man and a woman. There was something furtive about them. They were standing too close together and keeping to the darkness. The man had pulled the woman deeper inside the alcove. Lovers on a secret tryst, he thought.

Thornton climbed the overbridge that connected the two platforms. Instead of walking past them to get to the station entrance, he decided to take the side exit. He had no desire to surprise or embarrass the pair. He quietly and swiftly made his way to the other exit, which was right behind the waiting room. He was about to turn the corner when a bit of movement caught his eye and he glanced up. The woman had pushed back the hood of her cloak. Her face shone even in the dim gas light.

"My train should be here, only a few minutes more," Fred said looking at the big clock on the far end of the platform.

Fred held her hand in his. "I don't know when I will see you again."

"Don't say that," Margaret said. "I can now come and meet you."

Fred gave her an indulgent smile. It wouldn't be as easy as she thought, but he didn't have the heart to tell her that. "Even if you can't, we will have this day and we will always have Helstone."

No matter where they may be, they will always share the memory of the very best childhood. Of carefree days full of play. Of warm, lazy afternoons with fingers sticky from blueberry jam. And of Papa looking up from his book with a smile as they returned home. They will always have Helstone.

Margaret gave Fred a fierce hug, her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to hold back the tears. They stood like that, trying to make the few remaining moments last a lifetime.

The gas light flickered, signalling the arrival of the train. Fred turned to see the train pull into the station and hiss out a jet of steam as it came to a halt.

He opened the carriage door and put his bag inside. He noticed that Margaret was unknowingly clutching his coat sleeve. It was a habit of her from their childhood when she would insist on going along with him and his friends for games. She would grab his sleeve with all the strength of a four year old and dig in her heels.

He chuckled as he extricated his sleeve from her fingers and pulled her into a warm embrace.

The train whistled loudly and they broke away. Fred climbed into the carriage and lowered the glass on the window. He leaned out to hold her hand. Neither could speak, their hearts were too full.

The train slowly started moving. Margaret walked along with it a bit. Tears were now running freely down her face. They kissed each other and Fred released her hand as the train gained speed.

"Goodbye, Maggie," he waved.

"Goodbye, Fred," she waved back.

The train rushed past her and soon sped out of view. The platform was once again silent and Margaret was left standing alone.

Except for Thornton, who was still standing near the corner, who had seen everything, who had heard everything.

Margaret pulled the hood over her head and quickly walked out of the station. The cab was waiting for her outside. Thornton watched her as she climbed into the vehicle and disappeared into the night.

* * *

**A/N:**

*_Ducks behind the sofa_* - let me know when it is safe to come out okay…hehe!

I am sure most of you expected Fred to make an appearance. But I didn't want all that drama with Leonards. And yeah, Margaret doesn't know that Thornton has seen her—which I think will make things interesting. But I will not drag it out. Promise.

So let me know what you think. Good, bad, ugly, I want to hear it all. Please just don't be silent.


	36. Chapter 36

Thornton stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room. He picked up his cravat and began tying it. The precise, measured movements of his hands were in complete contrast with the raging tumult in his mind.

His mind had become a cruel and chaotic place. Everything had stopped making sense three nights ago. Even after three days, he still could not fully reconcile the woman he had seen at the station with the woman who had come to his mill not one week ago. What he had seen at the station was so utterly at odds with everything he knew about Margaret, with everything he believed about her that that woman couldn't possibly have been her. Except it had been her. He had seen her with a man, late at night, embracing him, promising to meet him again. But it wasn't the staggering impropriety of her actions that twisted his heart but the realisation that she cared, she really cared for this other man, Fred.

How is it that he had never heard about this man before? He had known Margaret and Mr Hale for more than a year, he had visited their house almost every day and in all that time, never once had he heard that name mentioned. He had met her family in London, had met that old servant of hers but other than Henry Lennox there had never been any suggestion of another suitor. When he had first made her acquaintance, he had found it hard to believe that someone like her was unattached. It had seemed impossible to him but he had not dwelled upon it for long, deciding that he was pleased rather than puzzled by it. And now he finally had his answer. There had been someone all along and from what he understood, it was someone whom she had known in Helstone, someone who was now back in her life, and someone whose affection she returned.

It would have been easy to think of her as unworthy of his love but his instinct told him that her impropriety did not extend beyond what he had witnessed. It was one thing about which he was absolutely certain. She was impulsive and passionate, but she would never be lured into doing anything compromising. The only reason she would be out so late at night, the only reason she would risk so much would be if she blindly loved and trusted that man. And Thornton had wanted that trust, that love, that abandon from her for himself.

What did all of this leave him to think? She was not the sort of girl to encourage and give false hope, which meant that he must have been mistaken in thinking that Margaret had come to care for him. And as painful and as nearly as impossible as it was to believe it, that had to be the only explanation. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

He had nearly laughed when he realised what he was doing. He was trying to save her from his own dark thoughts. He was trying to defend her from his overly cynical mind. But he hadn't been entirely successful. It was a mental trick that eluded him because the part of him that remembered their last few meetings, the part of him that remembered her every word, glance, gesture would not be easily persuaded. That part of him did not believe that he had mistaken her regard for him. That part of him was furious.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of the intense feeling of betrayal. He had told her he would wait for her. He had told her he would be her friend, that he would not press his suit until she was ready. He had given her all the time in the world. He had held back, he had respected her, he had content himself with silently loving her but in all that time she had thought of him as… what? What _did_ she think of him? Had she thought about him at all? It was a question that plagued him.

He knew he was not being fair to her. Perhaps he should simply ask her but he had no claim, no right to demand an explanation. They did not have any formal understanding. She did not owe him anything. Like everything else, it was something that he had assumed. But he knew that she was honest. If she had chosen someone else, she would tell him. She would do him that courtesy. What he was less sure about was if he could bear to hear it.

Thornton took out his pocket watch with the same deliberate movement. The guests will arrive shortly. She will arrive shortly. Never in his life had he felt so ill-prepared. The pain was still as raw and still as poisonous as when he had stepped out of the station. Three days had done nothing to numb it. He put back the watch and made his way downstairs, ignoring the dull pounding in his head.

He could not avoid her, nor could he ignore her. He would simply have to find a way to endure it, as he always had. Tonight was for Fanny and he was determined to not allow his bitter, broken heart to ruin her day of happiness.

* * *

Margaret and Mr Bell were the last of the guests to arrive. During the carriage ride, she had resisted the urge to fuss over Mr Bell. Just yesterday, he had grumbled loudly about pesky young women and annoying valets to which she had responded with a testy look but she had left him in peace since then.

Margaret was a bit apprehensive about visiting his house after such a long time. It must have been evident on her face because as they climbed out of the carriage, Mr Bell gave her hand a reassuring little pat.

They were greeted by Fanny as soon as they entered the formal drawing room. Fanny had been standing with Andrew and Mr Colthurst, both of whom came forward to greet them as well.

Andrew introduced Margaret to Mr Colthurst as the "mysterious Miss Hale."

Colthurst blinked momentarily in confusion. After Thornton had spoken to him about the school, a London attorney, who represented a Miss Hale, had come to his office. Unmarried women who asked their attorney to set up trust funds were a rarity. He had already met Mrs Hampers and so he had assumed that Miss Hale must be a wealthy old woman. But the young lady in front of him had taken him by surprise.

"Miss Hale," he recovered with a smile. He took her hand but then instead of merely shaking it, he dropped a small kiss on her knuckles.

"Mr Colthurst," Margaret gave a nervous little smile, taken aback by his chivalry.

Andrew and Fanny exchanged an amused look. Fanny quickly looked over to where her brother was standing. Thornton was engaged in a conversation with Mr Latimer and if he had noticed that Margaret had arrived, he gave no indication of it. After Mr Bell went to greet his hostess, Fanny took Andrew's arm and they excused themselves, leaving Margaret with Colthurst.

Once she got over her initial surprise, Margaret found that Mr Colthurst was actually good company. He was courteous and seemed genuinely interested in the school. Margaret answered his questions and listened politely but all the time she was wondering why Mr Thornton hadn't yet greeted her.

"Margaret is here," Fanny said, coming to Thornton's side.

"I noticed."

Thornton had noticed Margaret the moment she had entered the room with Mr Bell. He was also aware that Colthurst had monopolised her almost immediately.

"I am happy Margaret is out of those black gowns," Fanny said.

Thornton had noticed that as well. It was too obvious to be missed. She was wearing a dove grey skirt—he knew it was a colour she had never worn before.

Fanny continued meaningfully, "It's been almost four months and—"

"Fanny," he said in a low voice, a wealth of warning in the utterance.

"Fine, but you should rescue Margaret from Mr Colthurst," she said before going off. She was clearly not very pleased with her brother's rather casual attitude.

Thornton walked up to where Margaret and Colthurst were standing, forcing down every unpleasant emotion, striving for some sort of impassiveness.

"Ah, Thornton," Colthurst made room for Thornton to join their conversation.

"Miss Hale," Thornton nodded politely.

Margaret had been waiting for him. She didn't like being called Miss Hale by him—not any more, anyway—but he was hardly going to call her by her name when they were in company.

Margaret returned the greeting, trying not to look too obviously happy that he had finally come over, but not succeeding entirely. She _was_ happy and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop the smile on her face.

"Miss Hale was telling me about the evening classes," Colthurst began explaining to Thornton.

"Mr Colthurst, you give me too much credit," she said, feeling somewhat awkward. "Mrs Hampers is equally responsible for the school. I should be quite lost without her to guide me."

Thornton stood listening to them for a while, supplying the occasional comment. Colthurst's interest in Margaret was unmistakable and while it was one thing to know that Colthurst was wasting his time with her, it was quite another to watch him do it.

It was like acid.

"If you will excuse me," Thornton said. "You have much to discuss, I shouldn't like to be in the way."

Before Margaret could say otherwise, he walked away from them. She wasn't sure what to think about it. She supposed he had a duty to perform as the host. It would not seem polite for him to talk only to her. She saw him mingle with other guests, not talking much as but gracious nonetheless.

Margaret was surprised to find Ann Latimer among the guests. Fanny had told her that the dinner party was meant for a small select group but she had not thought that the Latimers would be invited. She knew that the Thorntons and Latimers were old business associates but she had never understood the family connection. Despite her own close friendship with Fanny, it was something she did not feel comfortable asking.

When Ann found out that Mr Webster came from a fabulously wealthy family, she had been as surprised as the rest of Milton society. It was also mortifying because her whole defence of Fanny had been built around the belief that Fanny Thornton would never be foolish enough to get involved with a lowly manager. But it seemed things had worked out amazingly well for Fanny and Ann was rather amused by the turn of events. She suspected the reason why she had been invited to this small circle was partly out of appreciation and partly out of cheek. So she shrugged off her folly and congratulated Fanny and Mr Webster with good grace and humour. Margaret Hale, however, was another matter altogether.

Ann knew that she did not stand a chance with Mr Thornton. She had gradually, grudgingly, come to accept the fact. His manner with her had been exactly as it was before Margaret had arrived in Milton and even Ann's open championing of Fanny had done nothing to change his behaviour towards her. Ann had enough pride to not chase a man who had shown absolutely no interest in her but the fact that Margaret had succeeded where she had failed made it hard for Ann to forgive her. And now that Margaret was wealthy, Ann had no doubt that Milton society will welcome her with open arms and happily forgive all her past indiscretions and even overlook the fact that she lived scandalously alone. And it rankled her no end.

Ann found Margaret standing alone. Margaret had just politely extricated herself from Mr Colthurst by bringing him over to Mrs Hampers.

"Miss Hale," Ann greeted her with a cheery smile. "You are finally out in society."

Margaret nodded stiffly, ignoring the rather tasteless statement that accompanied the greeting.

"And are you enjoying yourself?" Ann continued blithely.

"Yes, very much."

"Then you must really enjoy solitude," Ann remarked. It had not escaped her notice that Mr Thornton had not been particularly attentive to Margaret tonight and she took savage satisfaction in the fact.

The barb was unerringly aimed and for once, Margaret didn't have a reply. A reaction which suited Ann just fine. With an arch nod, she swept away from Margaret and joined her father and Mr Thornton.

When the doors to the dining room were opened, Margaret was surprised to find herself being escorted in by Mr Latimer. The two did not have anything in common, except that they were both investors in Mr Thornton's mill. Mr Latimer would of course never discuss business with a lady, so they spent the few minutes to the dining room in silence. Margaret caught Mr Bell give her a slight exasperated roll of his eyes as he realised that he was supposed to escort Ann.

Margaret was seated between Mr Colthurst and Mr Latimer. She noted that Ann was as usual seated to Mr Thornton's left. She didn't get the opportunity to dwell too much about it as she found herself diverted by Mr Webster's and Mr Colthurst's discussion about laws pertaining to the inspection of factories. Mr Thornton was asked for his opinion, which he provided. Margaret was amazed to see Fanny listen to the discussion with interest and even ask a few questions.

As the dinner progressed, the conversations became livelier and the topics less serious. Although both she and Mr Thornton were occasionally involved in the same discussion, neither spoke directly to each other. To all appearance, nothing seemed amiss to anyone, except to Margaret.

At the end of the dinner, Mrs Thornton nodded to the butler and soon all the glasses at the table were filled. Thornton stood up to make the toast. Everybody quieted down and listened.

"I would like to propose a toast to my sister, Fanny, and Andrew. And to congratulate Andrew on his win and a great political career." Everybody raised their glasses and amid the toasts and cheers of congratulations, Thornton directly addressed them before taking a sip from his glass, "Anything they put their minds to, they make it happen."

Andrew nodded his head towards Thornton in acknowledgement and then beaming at Fanny, took her hand and gave it a lingering kiss, right there in front of everyone.

Everyone at the table laughed and smiled indulgently, caught up in the romance of the moment. The two seemed to have a magical, charmed air around them. Margaret thought she had never seen Fanny look so breathtakingly lovely. Her happiness and radiance lit up the room. She looked at Mrs Thornton and saw her smiling at the pair. Even Ann was smiling. It was hard to resent anyone anything on a night like this.

Margaret ventured a look in Thornton's direction. He was regarding Fanny with quiet paternal affection. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked in her direction but when their eyes met, his countenance shifted momentarily. But before Margaret could be sure of what she saw, he assumed the impassive look that he had been treating her to the whole evening. Margaret glanced away uneasily.

After dinner, the men stayed back while the ladies retired to the large drawing room. Margaret sat with Fanny and Ann while Mrs Thornton and Mrs Hamper chatted in their corner.

The conversation between the young women naturally drifted to wedding dresses and wedding ceremonies.

"I wonder if a marriage must always be preceded by a whirlwind of planning and shopping," Margaret remarked absently as the men strolling into the drawing room. Mr Thornton and Mr Webster were not among them.

"Oh, yes, Cinderella's godmother ordering the trousseau, the wedding-breakfast, writing notes of invitation, for instance," Fanny teased her.

"But are all these troubles necessary?" Margaret asked, recalling the never-ending commotion about trifles that went on for weeks before Edith's wedding.

"What is your idea of a wedding then?" Fanny asked, already planning John and Margaret's wedding in her head.

"Oh, I have never thought much about it," Margaret confessed. "Only that I should like to wake up on a fine summer morning, put on my favourite dress and walk to church through the shade of trees."

"Shade of tress? You are certainly not thinking about Milton," Ann remarked pointedly.

"It is natural for me to think of Helstone church and the walk to it, rather than of driving up to church in the middle of a paved street," Margaret said a touch defensively, although now that she thought about it she really didn't care where it took place. In truth, she wished she hadn't said so much. She certainly did not want Ann to know something so personal about her.

While the conversation wandered back to lace and veils, Margaret quietly got up to keep her cup on the table. As she looked around the room, she left herself apart from it. The happiness with which she had begun the evening had eroded completely. Something was _not_ right. She had been reasoning with herself, trying to explain it away but now that the evening was about to draw to a close, she could feel the awful, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Being ignored by him had brought back painful memories of the days following her refusal. But she wasn't sure if he was ignoring her. He was always reserved in company so it is possible that she was over-reacting and reading too much into it.

Perhaps she would not have thought too much about it, if it were not for Ann. It bothered her that the Latimers were invited tonight. Ann's presence made her uneasy and rekindled her old fears. But if she were to be fully honest, other than a nod or a word, Mr Thornton had not made any conversation with Ann. But then neither had he made any conversation with her. As far as consolation went, it was a rather poor one.

Margaret saw that Mr Webster had returned to the room. He and Fanny were now sitting together and they seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Margaret took the opportunity and quietly slipped out. In the adjoining room, the doors to the balcony had been thrown wide open to let in some fresh air.

She had taken a few steps inside the room, when she noticed that Mr Thornton was on the balcony, looking out into the night. She paused, wondering if she should return to the drawing room. It might look as if she had sought him out alone.

He had been so distant and strange all evening. She wondered if others had noticed it or had he been that way with her only. In any case, he seemed upset about something and she wanted to find out what it was.

"Mr Thornton," she hesitantly called out when she was a few steps from the balcony.

She saw him straighten up. For a moment it didn't look like he was going to turn around, but he did.

"Did you want something?" he asked, his voice quite formal.

"A bit of fresh air, that's all," she said stepping closer to the threshold. It was then that Margaret noticed that this was the same balcony on which they had stood during the riot. She looked out beyond the railing. Below was the mill yard, silent and surprisingly tidy with all the carts neatly lined up against the mill building.

Thornton watched her as she approached the balcony. He heard her draw a soft breath as she recognised the place and suddenly somehow it was more than he was willing to take. All evening he had been trying to keep his distance from her. He should have been able to do that with the house full of guests. He needed time to step away and control the emotions raging through him.

He had been driven over the edge in these few hours, more than he could have ever imagined. First by Colthurst's obvious interest in her—he did not understand why it angered him so much. It seemed utterly pointless and yet, he couldn't help it. Then there was the awful realisation that Margaret was in half-mourning. She would be back in society. She could be courted now and the thought of it sliced through his heart. And still on top of it was hearing Margaret talk about getting married in Helstone. He had turned around and left the room.

And now she was standing with him as though nothing had happened and he was tired and frustrated and angry because he couldn't read her. He tried desperately with everything in his power to wipe off the picture of her at the station, to suppress his agitated imaginings but he couldn't. So he stood still, wishing with all his heart that she would leave him the hell alone—for her own sake.

As she looked at him, Margaret wondered why was it so difficult to talk to him suddenly. Whatever strange energy was swirling around him was affecting her as well. A part of her was urging her to leave him to his mood. She was still half-afraid of having followed him here when any of the guests could walk into the room and find them. But she pushed forward, driven by love and the knowledge that she was safe with him. She tried to fill the silence that had fallen between them.

"I hope the meeting in London went well," she began. "It must have, you signed the papers. I signed them as well. You had left them with Mr Bell. He said that you should be able to get the bank to release the …" Margaret trailed off unable to keep up the one-sided conversation. She regarded him apprehensively. Whatever he was upset about had nothing to do with the silly papers or the agreement. It was something else.

He stood there, unmoving, watching her silently—waiting for something.

"Is something wrong?" she finally asked.

"You tell me."

She looked at him momentarily confused.

"Why should anything be wrong?" she asked.

She received no reply from him, which made her unsure and nervous. And she hated it. She didn't know why she should be feeling so. She prayed that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. But even as that thought crossed her mind, she instinctively knew that it _had_ something to do with her. But that he was upset with her made little sense. Any number of things could have happened in the day to annoy him, she told herself.

"We are still friends, right?" she said, forcing a small casual laugh, trying to defuse the tension, seeking some reassurance.

But no sooner had the words left her lips than she saw him visibly flinch. She caught a flash of tightly controlled emotion that was frightening in its intensity. It was anger, Margaret realised with shock. It was pure, red-hot anger and it was directed at her.

"You are angry with me," she whispered, stunned by the idea.

Thornton seethed with rage but he forced himself to hold still. He had to because if he didn't he would grab her by the shoulder and shake the bloody truth out of her. And he could never be this ugly—never with her. He needed to walk away and walk away now because she didn't look like she was going to stop.

"Wait!" She caught his sleeve to stop him. Thornton froze in place. She looked at him with huge, stricken eyes, pleading for some explanation.

But Thornton wasn't looking at her, he was looking at her hand. With excruciating, deliberate calm, he covered her hand with his and removed it from his arm. He summoned every bit of detachment he could.

"You should go back inside. People will wonder what we are doing here." He said it with such casual indifference that he hardly recognised the voice as his own.

He released her hand, letting it drop. Still without looking at her, he turned away and walked out of the room.

Margaret stood dazed and numb with shock for a moment. She did not understand what had happened or why but one thing was becoming clear to her—he was trying to distance himself from her. He didn't want to be with her. But why? Had she said something wrong? Had she done something wrong?

Her mind raced frantically, trying to find an explanation. She had done nothing wrong! Was it him then? Had he decided that she was not worth his time any more? Was he through waiting for her? Margaret gasped at the thought. She recalled the warmth, the teasing, the sheer bounding joy she had felt at their last meeting—it seemed a lifetime ago. How could everything change so suddenly?

She looked at her hand, the hand that he had just flung aside. She felt her eyes burn with tears. She rubbed the back of the hand against her skirt, as if she could wipe away the memory and the moment clean.

"Margaret?" It was Mr Bell.

Margaret took a few deep breaths before turning around to face him.

"Are you alright?" he asked with obvious concern, as he drew near.

"I needed a bit of fresh air," Margaret repeated.

Mr Bell regarded her carefully. "You are shivering."

"I think the door has been left open for a long time. Shall we go inside," she suggested, looping her hand through his and walking back into the drawing room.

Mr Bell thought about asking her something but decided not to. When they returned to the room, she sat down with Mr Bell and Mrs Hampers. Their company was safe and comforting and she needed that right now.

She remembered telling Fred that she can take care of herself. How could she have been so foolish, so arrogant and confident? Until this moment, she had not realised that so much of her courage and strength in these last few months had come from Mr Thornton—from knowing that he was there for her. And now that it was suddenly gone, she felt untethered and rootless. How could he not know? How could he not see what was in her heart? Margaret closed her eyes forcing back the tears.

Across the room, Hannah was watching Margaret with concern. Hannah had spent a fair bit of this evening quietly observing her. Over the past several weeks, she had been hearing a good deal about Miss Hale and her work at the school from Mrs Hampers and whatever she had heard had her secretly pleased. While she could not claim that she approved of the girl living alone, her conduct had been entirely beyond reproach. Now watching her sit so still, staring at nothing, Hannah wondered what had gone wrong. Hannah had never really had the opportunity to observe Miss Hale and John together. The last time Miss Hale had been a guest in her house, Hannah had been busy worrying about the Irish workers and then being upset with her for challenging John in front of all the guests. To her relief, this evening had left no doubt in her mind as to Miss Hale's feelings. But Hannah had also noticed the growing distance and unease between the two as the evening progressed. It puzzled her exceedingly that it was John who was the source of the tension.

Hannah found Thornton in his study, looking out of the window, a half-empty glass resting on the window sill.

"Miss Hale is taking her leave," Hannah informed him.

Thornton inclined his head to acknowledge. She waited for him for a few moments by the door but he didn't look like he intended to stir.

"John," Hannah said his name in a tone that she hadn't used since he was a young boy.

Surprised, Thornton turned to look at his mother with a raised eyebrow. He had never thought the day would come when his mother would force him into Margaret's company. It made him want to laugh. The irony was exquisite.

He had been trying to hide his emotions all evening but he had forgotten that nothing much got past his mother. He downed the rest of his drink and went into the hall.

Margaret and Mr Bell were standing along with Fanny and Andrew. He shook Mr Bell's hand and bid him goodnight, ignoring the enquiring look on the face of the older man. It seemed nothing much got past Mr Bell either.

Margaret was talking to Fanny and Andrew, or rather they were talking to Margaret. Margaret spoke very little but as always, her composure was remarkable.

Instead of waiting for Margaret, Mr Bell climbed down the stairs and got into the carriage to give Thornton the opportunity to walk Margaret to the vehicle. Fanny and Andrew bid Margaret farewell and went back inside.

Once they were alone, Thornton saw her poise crumble a bit. She was shrinking away from him and it filled him with guilt.

He hadn't meant to be that horrible to her. But he did not know what else he could have done. He knew his temper and when she had half-laughing asked him if they were friends, she had answered the question he had dared not answer himself. She had destroyed whatever little hope he had. And the truly awful thing was he hadn't even been aware that he still had some hope left in his heart, a desperate belief that all this was some dreadful misunderstanding, that there might be a perfectly innocent explanation for everything.

But she had shut the door on that possibility. And so he had pushed her away—to save her from his fury and maybe to save himself from her.

Margaret began to quickly climb down the stairs without waiting for him. Thornton joined her and fell in step beside her. He did not know what overcame him but he took her hand and gently tucked it into the crook of his arm, holding it there.

"Helstone, then? I thought you had grown rather fond of Milton," he asked as they walked the short distance to the carriage.

Margaret was so startled by the gesture and the question that she did not know what to think. He had become someone she did not understand. She had no idea what he meant by the question, had no idea what this gesture even meant. It suddenly came to her what he was speaking about. But she remembered that he had not been in the room when she had said it.

"How did you know?" she inquired.

"About what?" he asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice.

"What I said about Helstone."

Thornton closed his eyes for a moment. What did it matter how he knew about it?

"I was standing behind you. You didn't look," he answered. A bitter smile crossed his face as he realised that that had indeed what had happened that night as well. He wondered how things would have turned out had she seen him on that platform.

"I didn't mean it," she said quietly. "Milton has my heart now," she added after a pause. Her whole world was crashing around her but she wanted to leave him in no doubt about at least this.

He halted abruptly and stared at her, trying to understand what in the world could she possibly mean by that statement. She did not glance away this time. Instead she was regarding him with… he did not know. He was looking at everything through the haze of jealousy and heartache and he was no longer sure what he was seeing any more.

He drew back. "Nonetheless," he said, helping her into the carriage.

He closed the door shut and knocked on the wall of the carriage to signal the driver to move.

"Good night, Miss Hale."

Thornton stood looking after the carriage a long time after it had disappeared from view. He had thought that this final heartbreak might finally cure him of her. That he might finally be done with her. That he might finally be able to walk into a room and not care that she was in it.

But that was never going to happen.

Even after the gulf that had opened up between them, he was perfectly aware of her every breath it seemed. He understood that he was never going to stop loving her. He was never going to be rid of her. And she would never be his.

Then why had he felt the overwhelming urge to hold her hand?

Why did it feel as if his heart, his instinct, his body even was trying to tell him something that his mind couldn't understand?

With each passing minute, the pounding in his head was becoming unbearable. He had never felt so worn out before. He hadn't slept in three days and he wanted nothing more than to shut everything out of his mind. Maybe he will try to think calmly about everything tomorrow. Maybe he will try to understand why had she not avoided him as he had expected her to, why had she insisted that he tell her what was wrong, why had she looked at him with… reproach and hurt. If anybody had any right to claim hurt, it was him and yet, why was he feeling so damned guilty about what happened tonight.

He knew that his wish for some peace and solitude will not be granted. The house was still full of guests. As for tomorrow, he was quite certain that Mr Bell intended to pay him a visit—if that almost hostile look he gave him was any indication.

Bracing himself, he climbed up the stairs and went inside.

* * *

**A/N:** Not sure if this is the chapter you were hoping for. I tried writing Thornton as super angry but it felt untrue. He has come quite a long way from that, I believe. He is simply devastated and unlike before he is trying with all his heart to give her the benefit of doubt-but what he had seen is rather hard to un-see.

Anyway, please do let me know how you feel about it. And yes, I do intend to hold true to the promise of not dragging this out.

Now it's my turn to beg all my amazing, perceptive readers to please share your thoughts. I really do need it at this stage in the story.

Love and hugs!

-SQ


	37. Chapter 37

The next day Thornton threw himself into work. He needed to forget, to wipe his mind clean of all the confusion and pain and work, as always, was the best solution. There were a myriad of details that the reopening of the second mill involved and for a few blessed hours, he was able to forget everything.

Thornton had a meeting with a few supplier and as he stepped out of the mill, Nicholas, who had been waiting outside the gate since morning, approached him.

"I want to speak to yo', sir."

"Can't stop now," Thornton said as he continued walking.

Before Nicholas had a chance to respond, Thornton was already halfway down the street. Sighing, Nicholas leaned back against the wall and continued waiting for him.

Thornton returned two hours later.

"You are still here?" he asked surprised.

"Ay, sir. I need to speak to yo'."

"Come in then."

Nicholas followed Thornton into his office, where he stood near the door. He was somewhat surprised that Thornton agreed to speak with him.

"What do you want?" Thornton asked as he sat down in his chair.

"My name is Nicholas Higgins—"

Hearing his name, Thornton frowned. He had heard about Higgins but had never met him.

"I know who you are," he said. "What do you want?"

"I want work."

"Work?" Thornton leaned back in his chair. "You got a nerve coming here asking for work."

Nicholas' own temper was more than a little roused by Thornton's manner.

"I'm a good hand and a steady man. You can ask Watson and he will tell yo'."

"I am not sure I will like all of what Watson will have to say about you. I had to turn out some of my best workers for following you and your Union. And you think I should take you on?"

"I promise yo', I'll not speak a word against yo', if yo' did right by us. And I promise that when I see yo' acting unfair, I'd speak to yo' in private first and give you fair warning."

"The mill where you are asking for work had to be closed because of the strike that you and your men started. What fair warning did you give them? You will get no work here. You are wasting your time," with that Thornton went back to his ledger.

"I knew I was," Nicholas said, not ready to leave without a final word. "I would not ha' come to yo' but I were bid to come by a young lady who thought yo' had a kindness about yo'."

Thornton looked up sharply. He had no doubt that the young lady was Margaret. He knew about her friendship with Higgins and his family.

Nicholas shook his head. "But I'm not the first man to be misled by a woman."

The remark cut too close to his heart. "Tell her to mind her own business and stop wasting your time and mine!" Thornton snapped.

Nicholas turned on his heel and left. His opinion about the masters had been confirmed.

Thornton forced himself to continue working, refusing to let his mind go down the all too familiar path, but it was proving difficult. He had hoped to escape her by loosing himself in work but she had invaded that space as well.

An hour later, Mr Bell found Thornton in his office, determinedly pouring over his books. Earlier in the day, Mr Bell had met Margaret. She had acted her usual self. She had gone back to fussing over him and had asked him to write to her as soon as he reached London. She also told him about the short express that Fred had sent from Liverpool—he had safely set sail to Spain. But she absolutely refused to talk about last night. She had shrugged it off with a smile—it was all very typical of her and Mr Bell was hardly surprised.

Mr Bell had been planning to pay Thornton a visit before he left for London but after last night, it became imperative that he did.

"You look dreadfully busy," Mr Bell remarked as he entered the office. "I came to bring over some final bit of paperwork. Pure formality, I assure you."

Mr Bell handed Thornton the papers to sign.

"It could have waited," Thornton said as he looked over the documents. They were nothing very important. He had been expecting Mr Bell's visit and didn't understand why he would use such a weak excuse.

"True, but I wanted to tidy things up for Margaret before I go," Mr Bell said.

"Where are you going?"

"London, to see my doctor. I will be required to spend some weeks there. I hope to return. But it's a chance I cannot take. Hence, the papers."

Thornton looked at the older man trying to determine if he was in jest.

"I am dying," Mr Bell said simply.

There was silence for a while.

"Does Margaret know?" Thornton asked.

Mr Bell smiled to himself that Thornton's first thought upon receiving the news—from the dying man, no less—had been about Margaret.

"She knows I am ill, but I don't think she realises just how ill. And I intend to keep it that way. She has worried about one old man long enough, I don't want her to worry about another."

"I am sorry," Thornton offered belatedly.

"Thank you," Mr Bell said cheerfully. "But don't be. Few men are as lucky as me to get to plan their exit."

Thornton signed the papers and handed them.

"I am happy that Margaret is secured. Although …" Mr Bell paused, "… there is one other thing that I would like to see settled before I go."

Thornton frowned at Mr Bell. "Shouldn't you be having this conversation with Margaret?"

"I could. But you see, since last night she doesn't seem to be in the mood for any conversation."

It was a direct hit. Thornton got up and stood at the window. "I still fail to see why you are having this conversation with me."

"Pray tell, who else am I supposed to be having this conversation with?"

Thornton turned around sharply, realising with shock that Mr Bell didn't know about Fred. Thornton had thought that Mr Bell would have known and that the purpose of today's visit was to either tell him about it or demand an explanation for upsetting Margaret yesterday night. But he had never imagined that Mr Bell would not know about the other man. Thornton did not know whether to be angry or appalled. Mr Bell had proved himself to be the most careless of guardians. He had no idea that Margaret had been going alone to Princeton in the evenings, it had been left to Thornton to put an end to that. He had sent Margaret alone to discuss a substantial investment, counting on Thornton to ensure that she came away with a beneficial agreement. And now he had no idea that his god-daughter, the girl whom his best friend had left to his charge, had been out unchaperoned late at night and her supposed guardian had absolutely no knowledge of it.

Thornton was about to tell him what he had seen at the station, but he found that he could not bring himself to reveal Margaret's indiscretion. He could not disgrace Margaret to her own godfather.

"Did you talk to Margaret before coming to me?" Thornton asked.

"I already told you she—"

"Then do not presume to talk about things you know nothing of," Thornton said with ill-concealed impatience.

"I believe I know everything that I need to know."

"Really? What do you know?" Thornton demanded.

Mr Bell was not the sort of man who got upset easily. Instead, he fixed Thornton with a frank, assessing look.

"I know the two of you are perfectly miserable right now and this time I am inclined to place the blame at your door."

Thornton drew back in fury. "Mr Bell, you forget yourself!"

"I do not. I am merely exercising the privilege that comes with age. I have never met a pair of more proud…" Mr Bell paused and shook his head. "You know, the two of you are too well-suited for your own good. You would rather die than—"

"You think that is what this is about? You think I am too proud to—" God! He suddenly wanted to laugh. That anyone would think that he was too proud admit his love to her. That he hadn't already laid his heart at her feet only to have it crushed. And fool that he was he had been ready to do it a second time.

Thornton took a deep breath. "Mr Bell, if you have no other papers you need me to sign, I am quite busy. Good day."

Thornton did not return to his seat but turned his back to Mr Bell and looked out of the window.

It was becoming clear to Mr Bell that the two had quarrelled rather badly about something. It was far more serious than he had thought. Whatever had happened between them had hurt Thornton just as much as it had hurt Margaret. But he doubted if he will be able to get either of them to tell him anything about it. Mr Bell sighed deeply, realising that there is only so much he can do for these two. Their pride made it impossible for anyone to help them.

Thornton was still at the window. He hadn't moved an inch from where he stood. Wearily, Mr Bell got up from his chair. But as he reached the door, he stopped. His conscience wouldn't allow him to leave without one final attempt. He turned to address Thornton.

"Hale and I, we talked about you two," Mr Bell said.

"Mr …" Thornton felt too exhausted to even muster affront.

"I know you care for Margaret. That's the first thing I knew about you," Mr Bell said kindly.

"I don't think there has ever been any doubt about that," Thornton said in a tired voice.

"Then you must realise how fortunate you are. Not many girls would have done what Margaret did in choosing to stay in Milton and I hardly need to tell you why. Whatever quarrel… or differences the two of you have got into I urge you to not lose sight of that fact."

Thornton stood by the window for a long while, thinking about everything that Mr Bell had said. He desperately wanted to believe it—a part of him already did but another part of him kept reminding him of what he had seen. He found it hard to understand why Margaret would not tell Mr Bell about something so important. It was so unlike her, so out of character. Everything she had done in these last few days had been out of character. But there was an undeniable kernel of truth in what Mr Bell had said—she had stayed in Milton.

Thornton went down to the mill yard and found Williams.

"How long had that man Higgins waited to speak to me?" he asked.

"He was outside the gate before eight o'clock, sir. He'd been there ever since."

More than five hours, Thornton thought with reluctant admiration.

"Find out if he is any good," Thornton instructed before going back to his office.

* * *

Margaret had spent the days following the dinner party trying to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. She went about her usual routine but she couldn't plan enough work to occupy all the empty hours. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do or believe. Should she just go on as if nothing had happened? Had she squandered her second chance? Had she pushed his patience to the breaking point with her indecision? Should she have done something more, said something more? Or was it something else? The lack of any explanation was driving her mad. The last time he had treated her with indifference she had known exactly why but this time she couldn't even begin to guess. She could deal with his anger but not with this... this mask of bland politeness that distanced and discouraged far more than any angry silence could.

On Katie's evening off, Margaret would sometimes go with her to meet Nicolas. But this morning, Margaret found out that Katie had caught a bit of chill and it looked like it might develop into a full-blown fever. Margaret nursed her during the day but there was nothing much to do about it other than for poor girl to simply sleep off the fever.

Not wanting to be alone with her thoughts, Margaret decided to visit Nicholas to tell him how Katie was doing. She found Nicholas busily engaged in making a penny spin for the amusement of some of the neighbour's little children. They were enjoying themselves and Margaret thought that the happy look was a good sign and perhaps, it meant that he had got a job at the mill.

After the children had gone home, she asked him about it. "Did you see Mr Thornton?"

The look on Nicholas' face changed instantly. "Ay!" he said. "I've seen and heard too much of him."

"He refused you, then?" Margaret asked with a sinking heart.

"To be sure. I knew he'd do it all along. Yo're a stranger and a foreigner. You aren't likely to know their ways."

"I am sorry I asked you to go," Margaret said. "Was he angry?"

"He weren't o'er-civil!" Nicholas said. Seeing the look on Margaret's face, he added, "Ne'er yo' fret, I'll find something to do. But I gave him as good as I got. I told him, I'd not that good opinion of him to come a second time asking for work, but yo'd advised me to come."

"You told him I sent you?" Margaret asked suddenly wishing Nicholas had not told Mr Thornton that he had gone upon her urging.

"Ay!"

"And he—?"

"Said I were to tell yo' to mind yo'r own business."

Margaret felt the words like a blow. She got up and starting rearranging the utensils on the kitchen table, giving herself something—anything—to do. She caught Nicholas looking at her curiously.

"You were right. He is not what I thought he was," she said quietly.

There was a slight noise behind her. Both Margaret and Nicholas turned around at the same moment. Thornton had just entered the house and was standing at the door.

Both Thornton and Margaret were so ill-prepared for this encounter that for a moment they could do nothing but stare at each other in utter surprise. It was Margaret who moved first. Without saying a word, she rushed past him and went out of the house.

Margaret felt as if her feet couldn't carry her away fast enough. She felt humiliated and angry. How had things come to this? That he would speak so dismissively about her to another person. She had wanted to understand what had gone wrong. She had hoped against all hope that she could try to fix whatever had gone wrong. But he was destroying every hope rather ruthlessly.

Thornton stepped out of Nicholas' house a few minutes later. This morning, Williams had given him a satisfactory report about Higgins. Higgins was a good, experienced worker as he had claimed and Thornton needed good workers. The matter had been settled quickly between the two of them.

But seeing Margaret so unexpectedly today had caught him unprepared. His conversation with Mr Bell had once again stirred up all the confusion that he had been struggling with. To know that he wasn't alone in thinking that Margaret had come to care to him was reassuring and terrifying in ways that he was unwilling to admit. But it was not pride that held him back, but fear. Fear that Margaret would confirm everything that he had seen at the station that night. It was a paralysing thought but it was something he couldn't avoid. Both hope and doubt were dangerous to the soul. He had lived for so long with one, he didn't think he could bear to live with the other as well.

As he walked back, he was also uncomfortably aware of the words he had spoken to Nicholas about Margaret. He wished he had been able to keep a civil tongue in his head yesterday. Thornton walked quickly, thoroughly annoyed with himself. It wasn't long before he saw Margaret walking ahead of him.

And she was alone.

It was nearly dark and she had come to Princeton alone.

He walked up to her. "Why is your maid not with you?" he asked.

Margaret started at finding him beside her, but she recovered immediately. She could not believe that it mattered to him anymore what she did.

"I fail to see how that is anybody's business but my own," Margaret replied as she continued walking.

"You are—" Thornton bit back the rest of it. He had very nearly said that she was his business.

Margaret felt rather than saw his anger. And for once, she didn't care how angry he was and she didn't care if he thought she was being reckless or heedless of her safety.

Thornton walked by her side, refusing to allow her to walk alone, refusing to let his temper get the better of him. She was right, of course. After telling her to mind her own business, he had no right to ask where or what she was doing. Except, it would never be as simple as that. She would always be his business but he could see why she would not see it that way.

As they heading towards Crampton, the silence stretched on between them and Thornton let it. While he knew that he will have to speak with her, he also saw that now was neither the time nor the place to broach such a matter. He knew he ought to apologise for the way he spoke about her to Higgins but an apology will require an explanation and it was not something he wanted to discuss with her on a street.

They continued walking, looking for all the world as if they were walking together—silent but together. But nothing could be further from the truth. Margaret wished she could tell him to leave her alone, to stop this horrible mockery of a friendship. She looked up with relief when she saw that they had reached the city. The streets were well-lighted and safe. It would be a few more minutes to her house and whatever misguided duty or obligation he felt towards her and made him accompany her could be put an end to.

"It is no longer necessary that you accompany me," she said, the note of desperate relief making her voice abrupt.

"I am simply escorting you home," he replied. He ought to have left it at that but the dismissal in her voice brought out all the hurt and bitterness and the next words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. "No one will expect you to marry me because of it, if that's what worries you."

Thornton regretted the words the moment they were uttered. They were flippant and thoughtless and unnecessary. Whatever may have happened between them, whatever the provocation, he should not have said that. For someone who had just resolved to let things be for today, he was chalking up an impressive list of things he needed to apologise for.

Margaret stopped walking to look at him, to see if there was anything behind his words—anything that might explain to her how he could say something like that to her. But she found nothing and suddenly she was glad of it. She quickly turned away, not wanting him to see the hurt that she was sure must be evident on her face and continued walking.

She was relieved that he had finally said something that would allow her to steel her heart and put an end to her confusion and her need to know. She had been desperate with worry—thinking, praying, fearing, wondering what had gone wrong between them. She had done something that took every ounce of her courage, she had gone against her family by staying in Milton, she had risked gossip by living alone, and she had done it for him. It had been for him. And all for what? The immense hurt was being swiftly replaced by anger. And, right now, anger was the only thing holding her together.

As soon as they reached her house, Margaret swiftly climbed the steps. Thornton could not let her go without telling her how much he regretted that remark.

"Margaret, I should apologise for—"

"No!" She turned on him with a ferocity that he had never seen before, screaming the word at him. "No! The time for apologies is over now!"

"Margaret, I—"

"Don't you dare call me that! It is Miss Hale, not Margaret. You lost that right a while back."

Thornton stood there, looking up at her, too stunned for words. Out of all the things he could have done at that moment, he found himself smiling. He knew it was not an appropriate response, she wouldn't understand it and it will probably infuriate her further, but he couldn't keep back the small smile of pure admiration. There was a reason he loved this woman to madness. She would not put up with insult from anyone. God knew he deserved her anger and he didn't mind it. He had known she would be angry, he had expected it but he had no idea just how angry. But what truly surprised him was how comforting he found it—her anger and with it the knowledge that he still had some hold over her, that he had enough hold over her for her to not care that she was making an unforgettable scene as she glared down at him from her doorstep, putting him in place with the whole street as witness. And she had never been so magnificent.

And even when she slammed the door in his face, he was smiling.

* * *

Margaret dashed up to her room, blinded by fury and heartbreak.

"Katie!" she shouted.

When Katie didn't appear, she was ready to shout for her again before she remembered that the girl was in bed. Margaret went to Katie's room.

"Did you call for me, miss?" Katie asked weakly, trying to sit up.

"Yes. I want to ask you if you would like to move with me to London."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N**: Promises fulfilled!

* * *

"Margaret is leaving Milton," Fanny announced, barging into Thornton's study.

Thornton looked up sharply. He had just returned home that evening after a short business trip to Liverpool and had been putting back some of the papers. It had been a week since Margaret had slammed the door in his face.

"She is returning to London tomorrow," she continued.

Thornton kept the papers on his desk with unnatural slowness and deliberation.

"What happened?" she asked, looking genuinely confused. "Why is she going?"

Thirty minutes later, Thornton was standing in front of the house in Crampton to find the answer. He climbed the steps and knocked. It was when he heard the sharp sound of the knock that he realised the lateness of the hour. This was hardly an appropriate time for a visit but he stood rooted to the spot when he heard movement behind the door. He heard the lock turn.

It was Margaret.

Margaret stared at him in utter astonishment.

Margaret was no longer angry. But she had been angry and heartbroken when she had written to her aunt. She had busied herself with closing the house, packing up things and all the other details that it wasn't until she received Aunt Shaw's letter informing her that Dixon will arrive in the morning to accompany her back to London that Margaret realised the enormity of what was happening.

She didn't want to leave but she could not stay here anymore. Not after everything.

The whole thing felt unreal to Margaret—everything that led to this moment and this decision. She found herself desperately wishing that she would wake up from this horrible dream. And now all of a sudden, he was here as if she had conjured him up.

She dumbly stood aside to let him in. They stood in the hall regarding each other quietly and without a word to say to each other.

Thornton was relieved that she was no longer obviously mad at him. The moment Fanny had told him that Margaret was leaving Milton, he had decided that he could not let her go, he would not let her go—not until he heard from her own mouth that she wanted to leave Milton and him.

Margaret shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and walked into the study. He followed her into the room as if on a string.

She had been packing the books. The rest of the items in the study had been boxed away, except for the furniture. Margaret glanced at him warily as he took in the bare walls and the crates. Standing in the empty room, he seemed somehow larger.

She was suddenly hit by the shocking impropriety of the situation. It wasn't that she had never been alone with him before but ever since she had been living on her own, he had always made sure that Mr Bell was present when he visited.

"So you are leaving?" he asked.

The question seemed to echo in the nearly vacant room.

Her response was to pick up some books from the table and place them in the box.

As Thornton watched her, he remembered when he had first met her. It was in this very room, except then she had been placing the books on the shelf. She had been perched rather precariously on a stool when he had entered the room. Was it then that he had fallen in love with her? He distinctly remembered feeling something shift and change in him when he had gazed up at her. And then, of course, she had sparred with him and he had been hopeless after that.

It seemed they have finally come full circle.

He picked up a few books. "I thought you intended to live in Milton," he asked as he handed them to her.

He saw her stiffen her spine. She took the books from him and put them in the box without a reply.

"What about the school?" he asked, undeterred by her silence.

"The school will be fine," she finally spoke.

He regarded her quietly as she carefully closed the box. It was the last one. She looked up to see the empty shelf.

"I am donating the books to the school," she said, mostly to swallow away the lump in her throat.

"Won't you be keeping a few for yourself?"

She nodded.

"Is _Le Morte d'Arthur _among them?" he asked.

"_Paradise Lost_ as well," she added after a moment.

"I think Mr Hale was trying to make a point with that one," he said.

"Pride goeth before a fall?" she asked with a slight raise of her brow.

"Something like that," he acknowledged with a wry smile. Pride was the beginning and the end with them. He doubted if they will ever learn that particular lesson.

An unwilling small smile found its way on her lips. She was past the point of comprehending how he could break her heart and then calmly talk about books and make her smile.

She remembered another book that she had kept aside. She had been planning to have it delivered to him but now that he was here, she thought she might give it herself. Margaret picked up the small parcel lying on the corner table and gave it to him.

"It is father's Plato and… you should keep it," she finished a bit weakly suddenly remembering why she had wanted it delivered.

Margaret backed away and watched in horror as he began opening the package. She hadn't thought he would open it now, in front of her.

As Thornton removed the wrapping, he found Mr Hale's copy of _The Republic_. A nostalgic smile played on his lips, but the look on his face turned to puzzlement when he found another item—a pair of gloves.

He looked up questioningly at Margaret and found her looking uneasily at him.

He inspected the gloves. They belonged to him, he realised. But it was hard to fathom why she would keep such a personal item of his. Where did she even get it from?

He looked up at her again.

"These are mine," he said.

She nodded.

"Where did you find them?" he asked.

For a moment, he didn't think she was going to answer. But then she haltingly replied, "You forgot them here... that day."

_That day_. So much had happened on that day, so much had been lost. He had very nearly lost his mill and he had most certainly lost her—nobody would have spared a thought to a pair of misplaced gloves. He couldn't even remember missing them. But she had kept them.

Margaret's eyes were fixed on the gloves, her hands were nervously clutching her skirt—something he had never seen her do. She had kept them since that day—since that long. She had never mentioned them, never returned them. Thornton felt his chest tighten as realisation began to dawn on him but he needed to hear it from her.

"Why did you keep them?" he asked.

The moment he had opened the package, she had known it would lead to this question. She didn't want to tell him why she had kept it—how could she—but she made the mistake of raising her eyes and looking him. He was looking at her with such expectant intensity that she found herself telling the truth.

"I wanted to keep something of yours."

Margaret immediately dropped her gaze, feeling naked and exposed and… foolish. It was such a silly, sentimental thing to do. It was even more painful admitting it now. She also suddenly felt angry that he had managed to get her to say it, that he finally knew the truth.

"And now?" he asked, somewhat unsteadily.

She looked back up at him accusingly. Her anger returned. "Now? I don't know who they belong to anymore," she said in a voice choked with frustration and emotion. "I don't know you anymore. You have become someone I do not understand. You are not the man I loved. How could you… I… "

She broke off and turned away from him, overwhelmed and horrified by all the words that had come out of her mouth. She couldn't have made her love for him any clearer. She had all but shouted those three words at him.

"Margaret, I never—"

"You never _what?_" she bit off in anger and spun on her heels and then fell silent.

He was standing in front of her—inches away. He had crossed to her while her back was turned. Margaret stood frozen on the spot. He was standing so dangerously close to her, she ought to step back but she didn't. Her anger kept her rooted to the spot, refusing to let her back down. She had swallowed all of her pride, she had laid bare her heart. It was now his turn. She looked up at him and waited for him. Waited for him to finally say something. Anything.

"Margaret," he finally said. All the regret and love and longing in his soul wrapped up in that one word.

Thornton slowly brought both his hands to hold her face, lifting her face to him. He heard her gasp softly at his touch. Her eyes were looking at him with hope and trepidation.

"Margaret, I never stopped loving you. I have always loved you. It has always been you," he said punctuating each word by giving her a little shake so that she understood him clearly.

For a moment, she looked stunned by the words and then she let out the breath she had been holding. She looked ready to cry with relief.

The dark cloud through which they had been seeing each other for the past few days had finally lifted. They stood looking at each other, stripped of their pride and doubts and insecurities.

His words and thoughts were lost in the clear depth of her eyes and the softness of her skin beneath his fingers.

He slowly lowered his head. His lips touched hers gently. It was a soft, tender kiss. But the contact was electric.

Thornton drew his head back a little to look at her, as if to assure himself that this moment was real. That suddenly everything he had ever wanted had finally come true. That she loved him. That she was with him.

His hands were still holding her face, his thumb lightly caressing the creamy, delicate skin. She opened her eyes and looked breathlessly at him. She swayed slightly towards him.

He kissed her again. But this time it was different. This time he kissed her with all the passion that had been building up within him since the moment he first laid eyes on her.

His hand circled around the small of her back and held her to him with a strength that left her breathless. He sank his hands into her hair, tugging it loose from its knot. He had spent a year imagining, dreaming, how it would be to kiss her. But nothing had prepared him for her soft and honeyed lips, the lush silkiness of her hair entangled in his fingers, the soft heat of her body pressed against his. She felt so exquisitely fragile and precious and perfect in his arms. Suddenly, he wanted more. He pulled her to him with all the urgency and mad desire coursing through him. Whatever iron control he had imposed over his desire simply vanished. His hands frantically searched for more contact. She was wearing a tightly collared dress with a maddening row of tiny buttons down the back.

His hand slid up her back and found the buttons of her dress. He undid one and a very small part of her brain woke up from the trance. But Thornton was too far gone to know what he was doing. His fingers slipped inside to touch the small inch of uncovered skin. Margaret gasped and stiffened. And that brought him back.

Thornton took a shuddering breath and slowly pushed himself away from her. They regarded each other in dazed silence for a moment, their erratic breathing the only sound in the room.

He had never seen her look more stunning than now. Her skin was flushed and glowing, her hair completely mussed up, her eyes wide and vibrant, her lips were red and stung—

"You should go upstairs," he said in a deep, unsteady voice, realising that he needed to send her away from him.

She looked as if she wanted to say something but stopped herself as though she too had realised that the moment was getting more dangerous and charged with each passing second. She gave a small nod and went out of the room.

* * *

Thornton walked in the cold night air, allowing the incredible happiness and peace to wash over him and warm his soul.

Everything had righted itself. The world that had been so off-balance, so askew fell back into place.

_She loved him_.

Margaret loved him. He thrilled in the newness of that knowledge, of that feeling. It was exhilarating and overwhelming and humbling. He still had a few questions that needed answers but none of it really mattered. Nothing mattered but that Margaret loved him. And if she loved him, that man at the station was not who he thought he was. There had to a far simpler, innocent explanation. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew it was true.

He suddenly stopped walking.

Helstone.

That man, Fred, and Margaret had talked about Helstone. She had always been telling him to visit the place. Perhaps it was time for a visit.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N**: Hello! I am really sorry about how long it has taken me to update. Life has been been somewhat difficult, personally and professionally and I couldn't find the time to write. Then in between my FF account froze up or so it seemed. Alarmed, I uploaded a dummy chapter to make sure that I could still update this story. I could, thank goodness. But in my panic I forgot that I would be spamming your inbox with notification for a non-existent chapter. Sorry about that. Things started settling down a few weeks ago but I found it difficult to write the story. I had parts of this chapter written but the rest took some time coming together.

I know most of you are not very happy with the story and feel that I am dragging it out. I am sorry but that's the way I had planned it. I can see why the last chapter annoyed you but the good news is that this is pretty much the final chapter. I have an epilogue-style chapter planned after this. So, 40 chapters in all. Even and neat.

Hope you like the conclusion :) Fingers crossed!

Hugs to all my readers. And thank you for your patience! I promise the epilogue will be up soon.

SQ

* * *

Margaret sat on her bed, trying to find her breath. She heard the front door close. He had left but this strange, molten, swirling feeling that he had stirred did not leave her. She placed a hand over her heart, it was still pounding with the ferocity of her response to him.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to collect her thoughts through the riot of sensations. Instead, she was surprised by a sudden spate of relieved tears. The tears went away as swiftly as they had come. The unexpectedness almost made her laugh. As she dried her eyes, she felt relief and happiness wash over her. Feelings she scarcely believed were possible an hour ago. It seemed incredible that everything can change so quickly, so completely. An hour ago she had been doing everything in a daze. She had given up all hope. And then he had turned up—at an inappropriate hour and at the last minute. She had noted the urgency with which he had come, the worry in his eyes, his attempts to talk to her and something unwillingly, unknowingly had rekindled in her heart.

She had truly not meant to admit anything. But she could not keep it inside anymore, not when he started asking her question after wretched question. She had laid bare her hurt, her confusion and her heart. And she had waited for him, for his reply, for him to finally say something. Through all that, some dim part of her had begun to realise that he had no idea—he had no idea she loved him.

For a moment, she had been terrified that he would not say anything. Then she had been terrifying that he would say all the wrong things. But he did not. When he had held her face in his hand, something about the way he had looked at her and said her name was so devastating. It was so pained and vulnerable. And it was so astonishing to her that he felt this way—that _he_ was vulnerable.

That was when it happened. The moment when she saw him with perfect and heart-breaking clarity. She saw all her doubts and insecurities mirrored in his eyes. She could feel his regret at what had happened between them and she could feel his fear that she would turn away and leave him.

But she had never wanted to leave. She had wanted him to stop her from leaving, to tell her he loved her.

Now, thinking back, she suddenly she did not know how she had ever thought he did not love her. Everything he had ever done, everything up till this miserable week, had been nothing but love. Something must have happened to make him act so distant towards her and instead of asking him about it she had been ready to run away. She had been so busy believing herself the injured party that she had chosen to ignore that he had seemed conflicted, that something had been eating away at him.

And all it had taken to wipe away that confusion and turmoil was for him to know that she loved him. Just as she had needed to know that he loved her.

She still did not know why he had been so angry with her but she found that she did not care. It had been on the tip of her tongue, but she did not ask him. She could not. Not after _that_. Not when she didn't trust her ability to process new thought. And especially not when he was looking at her with such breathless intensity. Right now, all that mattered was that they had found each other. After so long, they had finally found each other and with a matching desperation and need that she had never imagined possible.

He loved her. He had never stopped loving her, she thought in wonderment. And he had left her with absolutely no doubt about the fact. Her skin was still flushed and her lips still swollen. She stood up and her knees still felt like water. She touched her hair and realised that it was coming undone. She went to the mirror and pulled her hair down.

As she pinned them back, she saw that she was smiling. She could not help it. An hour ago, she had been so miserable, so very hopeless, that she couldn't help the smile. Even the thought that she absolutely should not be smiling after such behaviour, could not stop it. In the safety of her mind, she could admit to herself that she had wanted him to kiss her. She had wondered about it for so long but she had spent equally long denying, avoiding, hesitating over her love for him and she did not want to be that any longer. So she had not stepped back as she should have, she had not shied away, she had barely breathed. He had filled her entire vision when he had leaned in and she had surrendered herself to the inevitability of the moment. She had been completely swept away, heedless to everything. It was only when she felt his touch on her skin, nearly scorching it, that some sanity returned to her. She felt her whole body flush hotly as she remembered the moment but she couldn't dreg up the least bit shame.

Instead, a rush of happiness flooded her veins and before she knew it, she had the widest, silliest, lovesick smile plastered on her face. She had never felt so indescribably, incandescently, uncontainably happy. She thought her heart would explode from the emotion.

Too restless to sit in her room, Margaret practically flew down the stairs. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she entered the study. On the table, she found that he had taken the book with him but left his gloves with her. Smiling, she picked it up and ran her fingers over the soft leather.

"Miss?"

Margaret jumped at the sound and spun around. Katie was standing in the doorway. Katie—

_Good Heavens!_

How could she have forgotten that Katie was upstairs? In the entire time he had been here, had she even remember that she was not alone in the house? But then she had never expected the visit to end quite like that when she had let him in.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, miss."

"No, I... "Margaret paused to catch her breath. "What is it?"

"I have folded all the linens. Martha and I will pack the rest and send it to London," Katie informed her, all the while regarded Margaret curiously. "You seem a bit unsettled, miss."

Unsettled was one way of putting it. She was somewhere between euphoria and shock as she realised that the door to the study had been wide open. Katie could have walked in on them! They had been more reckless than Fanny and Mr Webster ever were!

"I am fine," she assured with a wobbly smile.

Katie didn't seem particularly convinced but she turned to go.

"Katie, ah… "

Katie faced her. "Yes, miss?"

"You don't need to call Martha. We are not going to London."

Katie stared at her, mouth hanging open. "But you said…"

"I know," Margaret agreed apologetically.

Katie obviously didn't know what to say. It was hardly her place to ask what occasioned this sudden change of plan but she could not keep the shock from her face. Margaret cringed at how capricious and absurd Katie must think her.

"So we are not…" Katie began, just to be certain.

Margaret nodded silently.

After giving Katie a few moments to accept the news, she asked, "Were you looking forward to London?"

Katie shook her head. "No. I like working for you, miss. London or Milton doesn't matter."

"Thank you," Margaret smiled gratefully.

Now if only Dixon would be that reasonable.

* * *

Once the idea of Helstone came to Thornton, it took urgent and complete hold of his mind. He couldn't explain it. It was like an inspiration that had to be done before anything else. He had to visit the place and visit it now. He had been paralysed by indecision in these past few days. He had not trusted his instinct when it had been telling him that Margaret loved him and that he had mistaken what he had seen at the station, so this time he followed his instinct. He boarded a late night train and in a few hours, he was in Helstone. He took a room at an inn near the station. And slept. For the first time in days, he truly slept.

The next morning, Thornton woke up to sunlight on his face. It was a singular feeling. He sat up, blinking against the morning sun that spilled into the room. He walked to the window and looked outside in wonder. He had only ever seen the countryside as it passed by the train window and it had almost always been misty and covered in fog. But this… this little patch of New Forest was a piece paradise tucked away from the world. He stood by the window transfixed by how peaceful and lovely the countryside looked in the morning.

Thornton slung his coat over his shoulder as he crossed the fields on his way to the village proper. The trees were gorgeous in their autumnal leafiness and the air warm with the fragrance of flower and foliage. Margaret's description of Helstone had always struck him as too fanciful and romantic. But as he walked through the village-green, he realised that she had indeed described it as it really was. It was as quaint and as picturesque as a village in Tennyson's poem. The common sounds of life were more musical here, the light more golden, the life more tranquil. He could not imagine a place more in contrast with Milton.

He followed the direction to the parsonage, strolling along the little terrace walk until the house came into view. One wall of the house was covered entirely with clustering roses and scarlet honeysuckle. The bright sunlight glinted off the glass on the windows and muslin curtains blew in the gentle breeze. The small lawn beyond the wicket gate was lush with verbenas and geraniums of all bright colours. He could easily picture Margaret and Mr Hale living there. He could trace the influence of this place to their little home in Crampton. He recalled the tall white china vase in their drawing room in which Margaret had placed wreaths of English ivy, pale green birch and copper-coloured beech leaves; the beautiful chintz-curtains and the slightly worn but soft chair covers; the much-loved and read books stacked on the tables; the basket haphazardly piled with oranges and apples and leaves. His own house in comparison was handsome and elegant but austere and he suddenly yearned for the enchantment that Margaret would add to it.

Thornton stepped away from the house, not wanting to draw attention or disturb its present occupants. Walking a little further away, he heard the sound of children's voices. It was a school. He wondered if this was where Margaret had volunteered. In the garden adjacent to the school, there was a large fallen trunk of an ancient beech. He sat down and took out his pocket watch. He had been afraid he had ambled for too long and was surprised to find that it was only just ten. Time truly had a way of passing slowly here. But he should return now. He had no great plan other than to see this place and her former home. He still had no idea what had brought him here, why he felt so compelled to come here—just a bone-deep feeling that he had to. Whatever his original impulse had been, he did not really think he was going to find answers here. He had thought about visiting Helstone back when he had no hope of calling her his. But he couldn't do it—it would mean admitting that he had well and truly lost her, there would be such a finality to the act and he couldn't do it. But now with her intoxicating lavender scent still on his clothes and breath, he could come here and fall a bit more in love with her and this place where she grew up to be what she is. But as magical as this place was, Milton was where she was, where her future was—where their future was—and he must now return to her.

Thornton stood up the same time someone entered the garden. Even from a distance, he could make out that the man was regarding him curiously. Thornton wondered wryly if he was really that out of place in Helstone. It wasn't until the other man drew near that Thornton recognised who it was.

Stephens.

Thornton had forgotten all about Stephens. He now remembered that Margaret had advised him to move to Helstone with his children. From the look on Stephens' face, it was clear that he was equally surprised to see Thornton.

Both men regarded at each other in awkward silence.

"Stephens," Thornton spoke first. Then looking in the direction of the school, he asked, "Do your children study here?"

Stephens nodded his head. "Th' girl. Th' boys are in 'nother."

As if on cue, the children came out of school—a happy, chattering group. Ellie came running up to her father and stopped when she saw Thornton, but offered him a smile when she recognised him.

"How's th' ol' parson?" Stephens asked.

"Mr Hale passed away a few months ago," Thornton told him.

Stephens was silent for a while. "He was a good man," he said. "And Miss Hale?"

"She is very well," Thornton said. "She would like to know the children are happy here."

Stephens saw how Thornton's eyes softened when he spoke of Miss Hale. He had seen Miss Hale run out into the balcony to stand between them and Thornton. He also remembered Thornton's frantic attempts to get her out of harm's way.

Thornton turned his attention to the little girl. "What did you learn today?" he asked.

"Alphabets," she said.

Stephens watched his old master sit back down and chat with his daughter—it was the oddest thing. The unyielding, aloof man with the frightful temper was gone. Stephens wondered what Thornton was doing here.

"Where is Mr Woof?" Thornton asked the girl.

Ellie's face broke into a grin. "He's under you."

Amused, Thornton bent down and saw that the tree truck was actually hollow and that the creature was curled up inside, shielded from the sun.

"Miss Margaret told us about it. She said we could keep Mr Woof inside. She used to hide her rabbit from her brother here. You can go in. See?" Kneeling, Ellie crawled inside and stroked the slumbering dog.

"Her brother?" Thornton smiled at her. "Margaret doesn't have a brother."

Ellie frowned at that. "She told us she does."

Thornton didn't know what to say to that. He looked at Stephens.

"I reckoned yo' knew it," Stephens said. "He was in th' navy. Master Frederick, they ca'ad him."

"Frederick? Fred—" Thornton stopped, too stunned to continue. He stared at Stephen, certain that he had heard that wrong.

"Mr Hale's son?" he asked.

"Aye."

"Does he live here?"

Stephens shook his head. "I dunno where he is. I only know what I hear e'erybody here say. They say he was mixed up in some mutiny and forced to escape the country. But folks here believe he's innocent."

Thornton's mind reeled from the revelations. Fred must have come to England to meet her. That must be it. He replayed the scene at the station. The cover of darkness, the talk about Helstone, the promise to meet again, the ease and familiarity between them—he had called her Maggie. A brother would call her that.

Fred was her brother.

Stephens studied Thornton's face nervously, wondering if he had done right in telling him. "Th' young lady had done me much kindness. I don't want to get her brother into mischief. I reckoned yo' knowed it or I'd never ha' let on."

Thornton looked up, roused from his thoughts. "It's alright," he assured Stephens.

As he looked at Stephens and Ellie, Thornton understood that it is only now that he has come full circle. His mind had conveniently forgotten his first actual meeting with Margaret, instead preferring to think of their meeting at her home as their first encounter. That the occasion of their first meeting and subsequent disagreements should be his dismissal of Stephens, that Margaret's act of kindness should send Stephens here and that Stephens should be the one to tell him about Fred—it was exactly the sort of mystic spinning of threads that Mr Hale would have delighted in.

Thornton closed his eyes for a moment, feeling oddly purged of something, touched by something bigger. He extended his hand to Stephens.

Stephens looked at the proffered hand and slowly lifted his own to shake it.

"Good luck, Stephens."

"Yo' as well."

* * *

Margaret bent down to place the flowers at Mr Hale's grave.

Dixon was home, probably resting or more likely wondering what was wrong with Margaret. It had always been a contest of wills between her and Dixon and after nineteen years of living with her, Margaret knew all the twists and turns and leaps of Dixon's logic and moods. After settling in Dixon with a cup of tea, she had calmly told her that she will not be returning to London and then kept quiet as Dixon coughed and sputtered and then finally found her voice and proceeded to question her about it. Margaret had told her that she had made a dreadful mistake and did not plan to return to London after all. It was all that was needed for Dixon to start lecturing her about living alone, about not being appropriately chaperoned, about not wearing a proper afternoon gown, about changing her mind without any explanation. Once out of things to say, Dixon had elected to stand aside and scowl as Margaret instructed Katie to speak with the cook if she would like to work for them again and to prepare the guest room for Dixon. She had stood irresolutely as Margaret unpacked the boxes herself. After a couple of hours, Dixon had thrown up her hands in defeat and helped her—but not without muttering a good deal about the corrupting influence of Milton and how she had warned the poor, old Master that Margaret would go unchecked without her steadying influence.

Margaret had turned a cheerful deaf ear to the old housekeeper's tirades. But then Dixon had levelled a sharp look in her direction and demanded to know what on Earth was she so happy about.

Margaret had struggled to keep her face from turning a guilty red. Before Dixon could intensify her scrutiny, Margaret had wisely made her escape.

Margaret collected the old flowers and walked over to the oak tree and placed it there. Straightening up, she tipped her face towards the sun. The afternoon sun was starting to acquire a rich, golden tone. She could feel the nip in the air. Hugging her coat tightly around her, she hurried down the path. She wanted to be home when he came. Glancing up, she abruptly halted in her tracks and her mouth parted in surprise. Standing a short distance away, waiting for her was Thornton.

As her eyes locked with his, Margaret could not remember how to speak or walk. She had been waiting for him to return. When he had not come in the morning and then in the afternoon, she had remained remarkably calm. She knew he would come to her. She had made him wait so long, she could wait a few hours for him.

She slowly made her way to where he was standing. She could feel the heat crawl up her neck and spread across her cheeks as the memory of their passionate kiss raced across her mind.

They were a few steps from each other, when getting a grip on herself, she asked, "How did you know I would be here?"

"Dixon told me."

"Dixon told you I was here?" she asked astonished. It was hard to imagine Dixon telling any man where she would be.

"She likes me, remember?" he smiled.

Margaret stopped in front of him. Her eyes widened as she took in his appearance. His hair was windblown, his cravat was tied in a casual knot, his jaw was unshaven. "Even in your present state of dishevelment?" Margaret couldn't resist.

"Even in my present state of dishevelment," he confirmed.

"Did you go somewhere?" she asked.

"Yes, I did." Smiling softly at her, he asked, "Would you like to guess where I've been?"

Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he pulled out a gorgeous yellow rose and gave it to her. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to recognise where the flower came from. Margaret took the rose, wondering for a second before her face lit up.

"Helstone!" she exclaimed. "It is from our garden. Do they still grown on the—"

"—hedgerow?" he completed, his smile deepening. "Yes."

Margaret touched the petals reverently and lifted the flower to her face, inhaling its scent. She suddenly looked up at him, "Why had you gone to Helstone?"

"It seemed like a good idea," he said, leading her to the church grounds.

She saw from his face that there was more to it. They sat down on one of the benches, turning towards each other. Thornton casually rested an arm across the back of the bench behind her, thinking how naturally that came to him now.

"Do you know who I met in Helstone?" he asked.

Margaret could not even begin to guess who. Even with her beloved rose in her hand, it was hard to believe that he had been to Helstone.

"Stephens," he answered.

"Stephens," she echoed in surprise, as if she too had suddenly remembered him. "How is he? Did you meet the children?"

"I met Ellie. And Mr Woof," he smiled. "They seemed very happy there. She goes to school, the one near the parsonage."

"I used to go there myself. But I stopped when I started reading with Papa," Margaret said with a wistful smile.

He watched as Margaret returned her gaze to the flower in her hand. "Ellie told me you have a brother."

Margaret's head shot up. She looked at him in surprised silence for a moment. "Yes, I have a brother. Frederick. I told the children about Fred, about all the games we used to play. They were so unhappy about leaving Milton so I described Helstone to them and all the secret places and things I knew they will love," she smiled.

He waited for her to continue.

"Fred was a Lieutenant with the Navy," she said turning her head to look across the grounds. "Four years ago, he sailed with Capt. Reid. The Captain was a madman. Once they sailed, the Captain did whatever he liked. He beat the children within an inch of their lives. Fred and some of the other men stood up to him. They put the Captain and a few of his officers in a boat and let it loose on the open sea. The Navy called it a mutiny. Fred was branded the ringleader and a traitor. You may have read about it in the papers. We did everything to clear his name but… " Margaret paused, remembering those awful months spent in fear and suspense over Fred's fate. "He lives in Spain now."

Margaret continued staring ahead. "Two weeks ago, he came to England. It was so unexpected. We never thought we would see each other ever again. Someone he knew was able arrange a passage for him to England and he took the risk. He was worried about what would become of me. He wanted me to return to London. I told Fred about you," she hesitated briefly, "I meant to tell you about him but by then you didn't want to talk to me anymore," she said, her face twisted into a sad smile.

"You told him about—" For a moment, he looked incapable of words. "You told him about me," he asked.

"Yes." At her answer, he looked away, waiting for the tide of guilt to subside.

"What's wro—"

Abruptly, he turned back to her. "I saw you and Fred at the station," he confessed.

Margaret stared at him uncomprehendingly for several seconds.

"I was at the station that night, I had returned from London. I saw you seeing him off and I thought…" he hesitated.

She tried to think about how he might have seen them, how she and Fred might have appeared to anyone who saw them.

He tried again. "I misunderstood—"

"You thought Fred was a lover," she whispered, almost as if she were saying it to herself. She looked up at him and saw from his pained silence that she was right.

So that was it. He thought she loved another. That was the reason he had pushed her away. The reason he had been angry with her. But how could he—

"Did you really believe it," she asked.

That was not the question he had expected her to ask. But one he could answer without any guilt. "I struggled with it," he said, thinking that that had to be the understatement of the century. "But no, I didn't believe it. Not truly."

"Then why didn't you ask me?" she asked bewildered.

It was a question he had asked himself over and over again on the journey back to Milton. He sighed deeply. "I was afraid. Of being wrong. Of losing whatever remained of… myself," he faltered, the words coming to him with difficulty. He looked away. "It is not an easy thing to admit."

He looked back at her, not sure what he would find in her eyes—hurt, anger, accusation. But she was regarding him with a look of such understanding on her face, so devoid of judgement. He knew he didn't really deserve her understanding but it spurred him on.

"I am a logical man, Margaret. My eyes saw a contradiction to what I believed. It made me doubt everything I believed, everything I knew. I saw something I had only one way of explaining. There could be only one reason why you would be out at night with another man and I didn't want to ask you about it, I didn't want to hear it. It had taken me so long to find hope, I could not bear to have it all taken away. I could not do it."

"Why did you come last night?" she asked softly.

"When I found out you were leaving Milton, I knew I had pushed you away too far. I never wanted to hurt you, despite how I behaved, the things I said. I would never begrudge you finding love with another. I would never begrudge you happiness. But I had to know if that is what you wanted. I could not let you go without knowing," he paused, "and also because you shouted at me," he added with a smile that relieved the solemn look on his face.

Margaret flushed with embarrassment and anger with herself. "I should not have said those things. I am so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," he assured her. "My behaviour was beyond excusable. You had every right to be angry with me. I deserved it."

"No!" she said fiercely and protectively. Even though she could not stop herself from asking him questions, she knew her hypocrisy in making him explain it all now. But she could not let him shoulder all the blame for what happened. "I made things worse. I was too busy being angry. I should have talked to you but I didn't."

"I did not make it very easy to talk to me," he reminded her.

"I locked you in a room once, if you remember," she said, scowling at the trees beyond the grounds.

He smiled. "I am sorry," he said again.

He had his reasons for how he behaved, but what was her excuse, she wondered. And then she realised with shock, her reasons were exactly the same as him. She had been afraid and proud. Afraid that he would reject her but too proud to actually ask.

"I should not have given up. I should have said something. I should not have been running away. It seems that is all I've ever done," she said.

"You did not go today," he said gently. And that truly was what mattered. He knew the tremendous trust and faith she must have placed in him by not returning to London for he had placed an equal amount of trust and faith in her when he had left her last night, realising quite belatedly that he had given her no understanding.

She kept staring out for a while, then he saw her jaw relax and her shoulders slump softly as she exhaled. After a few moments, she said, "Tell me about Helstone."

That was her way of forgiving both of them, he realised.

"Did you find it the way I described it?" she asked.

"Yes, it was exactly as you had described it. I think I am going to find all other places rather prosaic-looking after Helstone."

She smiled a little. "I thought you would find it rather dull."

"Actually, I was thinking I would like to stay there for a few days."

Her face showed her surprise. "You will be bored within a day," she said recalling how restless he had been during the strike when he had nothing to do.

"I imagine it all depends on the company."

"That's true," she granted.

He turned to her. "We could go there."

She looked up at him at those words. She heard the question in the words. He hadn't meant to ask her like that but he could see how the words and the moment had come together, naturally and simply, and when he thought about it later, perfectly.

He held her gaze long enough for the moment to be searingly intimate, a moment full of promise of shared experiences and memories and a life together. She felt herself start to nod, her eyes welling up with happiness.

Thornton didn't even realise he had been holding his breath. He knew her answer but he had not expected to feel this overwhelming rush of love and joy.

She kept nodding, still too full of emotions to manage actual words. "We should go there," she finally said but the words were lost between a gulp of air and a hiccup.

He laughed and pulled her into a tight, affectionate embrace. He kissed her forehead, his warm breath brushing over her face.

He brought his eyes to her level. "I assume that's a yes," he said. She looked adorably embarrassed as she raised her eyes. They laughed the moment their eyes met, all the love they felt for each other shining in their eyes and in the sound of their shared laugh.

As she swiping a finger under her eyes, she noticed the forgotten rose in her lap. "Do you have the book with you?" she asked.

He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and drew out Mr Hale's Plato. He watched as she carefully smoothened the petals. Realising what she intended to do, he opened the book in the middle and presented it to her. Margaret placed the flower between the pages and gently pressed the book close—a token of this special moment—and handed it back to him. He tucked the book back into his pocket.

Smiling contentedly, she leaned back into the bench. He drew his arm closer, cradling her more securely against him. They sat silently for a while, revelling in this perfect moment and in each other.

"Did you speak with Papa about us?" she asked after a few minutes.

"Not formally. But he had given me his permission," he answered. "What about your family in London?"

"I will have to go there." She hadn't thought about it until this moment. Dixon planned to return tomorrow, she might as well go with her and announce the news to her family. "I have played truant with my aunt for too long. She doesn't deserve it. And I do want to meet Edith and—oh, did I tell you? I am an aunt now," she beamed proudly.

He smiled. "Congratulations. Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"When will you be back?" he asked.

She mulled over it for a bit. "In a week, I think."

Thornton nodded thoughtfully. "Will they object?" he asked. They would marry with or without their approval but it would be easier if her family made no protest.

"My aunt will certainly have a lot of questions but I know she will never oppose. And I don't think Edith will be surprised by the news," she admitted, recalling her last conversation with her cousin about him.

Thornton found that interesting.

"What about Henry Lennox?" he asked. He needed to be sure that Lennox was not going to make things awkward for Margaret while she was there. Mr Bell had given him to understand that Lennox had been rather persistent.

"Henry knows," Margaret said, looking at her hands.

Thornton looked incredulous. "It seems you told everyone except me," he gently rebuked, but his eyes were full of humour.

"I am sorry," she gave a helpless shrug. "I was a fool."

"So was I," he admitted.

"We were both fools," she said, because it really had to be said. Aloud.

"Mr Bell certainly thought so," he added.

"He spoke to you?" she asked, embarrassed that others had to get involved. "Well, we are here now. It all worked out fine. Besides, Mrs Hampers once told me that adversity helps build character."

He chuckled. "That sounds like something she would say."

She turned to him suddenly. "You know, when I grow old I would like to be like her," she declared.

"Flaying Milton with your opinions?" he asked, sounding greatly amused.

She nodded. When she glanced at him, she caught him looking at her curiously. "Are you trying to picture me as an old lady?" she teased.

"Yes." It was hard not to after such a statement.

"And?" she prompted. She obligingly turned her face fully to his assessing gaze. "Will I grow to be a crooked, old crone?"

He indulged her by closing one eye slightly to better bring her face into focus. "Were you always beautiful?" he asked.

She almost smiled at the marvellously objective question. She replied with equal objectivity. "Yes."

He smiled at her answer. "I thought so. You will grow lovelier with age. You have that kind of face."

He said it with such surety, she believed him completely. She was also enormously pleased. He was hardly the sort to wax eloquent but this was the first time he had commented about her looks.

"Well, if you are so determined to follow Mrs Hampers' footsteps, I must tell you that she had eloped and married Mr Hampers," he informed her.

"She didn't!" Margaret gasped.

Thornton merely smiled.

Margaret blinked as she considered it. Those lovely watercolours and now this—the old lady was a romantic! Who would have thought?

She looked up to find his eyes were twinkling away with mischief. She immediately realised what was on his mind.

"Oh no! No, no, no, no, _no_!" she said, scooting away. "As much as I admire Mrs Hampers, I am not eloping. _We_ are not eloping!" she added, when she had put enough space between them.

Which he eliminated instantly. "No?" he asked. Of course, they did not need to elope but he was enjoying this too much to stop teasing her.

"Absolutely not! I want a proper engagement," she announced.

He raised his brow at that. "A proper engagement?"

"Yes, at least a year, I believe that's what Aunt Shaw used to say," she replied.

Thornton stared at her, hoping she wasn't going to seriously consider her aunt's advice. Was that how long a proper engagement was supposed to be? He was quite sure he had never heard of such nonsense. And what on earth was a _proper_ engagement? Between the two of them and together they have broken every rule and propriety—there was nothing very proper about them. But then he caught her press her lips in an effort to suppress her smile and he realised that she had been teasing him right back.

Margaret tried not to smile but she was never good at keeping a straight face like him. She gave up and grinned at him.

"Even Aunt Shaw will find a year excessive. She will gladly marry me off tomorrow if it means I will not be living alone," she informed him.

"I am very relieved to hear that," he replied. "How long would you like the engagement to be?"

"Fanny's wedding is next month, I would not dream of finalising anything before that. But I would like an engagement period," she hastened to add. "Edith had hers and so does Fanny, I want one as well."

He looked over at her, the corner of his mouth quirked up, "Why, Miss Hale, have I at last discovered your feminine vanity?"

Forcing back a smile, she replied pertly, "And now that you have discovered it, sir, you are required to indulge it."

His smile became a laugh. "Very well then. You shall have a proper engagement."

"Oh good!" she said with a delighted laugh.

The sound of her laugh made him happy. Sitting here talking to her about everything and nothing made him happy. Knowing that he would be spending the rest of his life doing this made him happy. Thornton took a deep breath, realising that he had never been this happy in his life.

"And now I think I am hungry," he said as he stood up and held out his hand.

She laughed some more. "And I think you need to change," Margaret pointed out, placing her hand in his.

"Your humble, unwashed vassal," Thornton smiled and in one easy movement, he pulled her up and against him.

"Oh!" she breathed as she stumbled into him.

Last night when he had kissed her, he hadn't thought about what he was doing. It had been such a strange and urgent night and it had lend a reckless quality to their actions. He knew that she had initially only accepted his kiss but then she had stolen his breath by kissing him back—tentatively at first and then with growing desire. He found her gazing up at him with love and trust and with the slightest bit of trepidation, as if she still couldn't believe that they now shared this intimacy as well.

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed each knuckle. Her skin was soft and her fingers were unadorned. He needed to get her a ring, he realised.

Margaret watched as he slowly swept his thumb over her fingers, making her heart beat far faster than necessary. "I've always wanted to draw your hands," she said.

Thornton stopped as he shifted his focus from her hand to his. He didn't see anything remarkable about his hand, nothing that would make anyone want to draw them. All he saw was how large they were compared to hers.

She turned his hand over and pressed a finger on the pad of his middle finger to gently open up his hand. "The palm and the fingers are in the correct proportion," she said. She turned his hand back again, admiring the long, strong fingers. "And then there is this," she touched the joint between his thumb and his hand. "Prominent but it lends character."

He smiled to himself. "You made quite a study of them," he remarked.

She blushed slightly and then more deeply as he lifted his hand and lightly touched the side of her face with his fingertips. He slid his fingers to cup her neck, his thumb tracing her jaw before leaning in and kissing her. It was a slow, burning kiss and she felt her whole body respond to his sensual caress. His hand slipped around her waist beneath her coat to hold her closely against him. He tilted his head to kiss her deeply and so thoroughly, she had to clutch his coat to steady herself.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their hearts afire.

"Shall we go home," he asked, a few minutes later.

* * *

As they neared his house, Thornton felt her fingers grip his arm. He looked at her questioningly.

"Your mother. I mean, I was wondering what she will say," she said.

Thornton gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I assure you, she will be quite happy to see us."

She was silent for a moment, debating the merits of stating her apprehension. "I don't think she likes me very much," she admitted haltingly.

Thornton regarded her quietly for a moment. "That is not true. She has always liked you. Even after you refused me." Seeing the disbelief on her face, he explained, "I think she understood your reasons, even when I didn't, and she couldn't help but admire you for it. Her frustration was largely with me. I couldn't stop loving you."

Margaret pondered over it. Aside from that one time, Mrs Thornton had been kind and considerate—far more than she had ever expected.

When they reached his house, Thornton looked at her before he opened the door. His eyes lit with humour as she took a deep, fortifying breath before nodding, but he refrained from commenting.

He pushed open the door and led her inside. Pressing a reassuring kiss on her temple, he placed a hand on her back and guided her to the parlour.

At the sound of footsteps outside the room, Hannah lifted her head from her embroidery. She hoped it was John. While she didn't expect him to notify her of his every movement and while she knew that it was still early to worry about his whereabouts, Hannah nonetheless let out a breath of relief when she saw his tall frame fill the doorway.

Her relief turned into momentary surprise when saw Miss Hale with him.

"Mother," Thornton stepped forward. The smile on his face could only mean one thing.

"It has been a very interesting day," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

"I can see that," Hannah said with a quiet smile as she settled her gaze on the young woman who would be her daughter.

Margaret offered her a tremulous smile, marvelling at the easy communication between mother and son.

"Tea?" Hannah asked as she gestured to Margaret to sit down.

"Yes, thank you."

Thornton went to pull the bell. "Where is Fanny?" he asked.

"In her room," Hannah replied.

"If you will excuse me, it has been a long day," Thornton strode towards the door but then hesitated, hovering behind where Margaret was seated. He knew it was best for his mother and Margaret to talk frankly but he wondered if he should stay in the room a bit longer till Margaret felt completely comfortable.

Glancing up, he caught Hannah looking at him. Hannah had seen the protective look on his face. A look of understanding passed between them and Thornton left the two women alone.

With his exit, the room lapsed into silence for a while. "This isn't a surprise, I must say," Hannah finally spoke.

Margaret looked up, working to keep the surprise off her face. Just how obvious had her feelings been, she wondered.

"It was obvious to anyone who cared to see," Hannah said by way of explanation.

A maid entered with the tea service and Hannah busied herself preparing a cup for both of them. Margaret knew Mrs Thornton was intelligent and fiercely protective of her children so she would naturally be keeping an eye on Margaret. But she did not want Mrs Thornton try to like her for her son's sake—she could not imagine anything worse. It would be such a terrible imposition. Margaret was not sure how to say this or if this was something she should be talking about. But her need for honesty won out.

"Mrs Thornton, the last time we spoke…" she began.

Hannah interrupted her by handing Margaret a cup. Hannah took up the conversation, her words were measured and careful, "Our acquaintance has not been easy or very long but I think I know your character much better now than when I claimed to earlier. You are the sort of girl I would have liked for John," Hannah paused briefly to see how this statement was met. Satisfied with the look of attention on Margaret's face, she continued, "I know you are principled. Your work at the school has not gone unnoticed by me. You have been a steady friend to Fanny, while others offered it when it was convenient. But you can be opinionated and stubborn. And proud."

Margaret had to concede that that was a fair assessment. But even though she was still herself, and therefore all those things that Mrs Thornton had accurately catalogued, she had also felt a change within her since last night. It was as though she could see herself from outside.

"You are right. I have been wrong about many things. I think I have come some way since then. I believe and I hope I will learn to temper those qualities."

"Yes, that is good. But I wasn't necessarily speaking of faults. You are going to need some of that stubbornness and pride with John," Hannah remarked.

Margaret placed her cup back in the sauce to regard Mrs Thornton with frank interest. Mrs Thornton returned her gaze. The moment seemed suspended in time as Margaret considered what Mrs Thornton just said. Mrs Thornton was right about that. They will need a fair amount of stubbornness and pride to keep each other in check. If previously it had led to disaster, they had love to buffer it now. It seemed remarkable to her that Mrs Thornton would see things practically and with such objectivity.

"Well, Miss Hale," Hannah asked.

"Please call me Margaret."

Margaret was rewarded with a warm smile. Mrs Thornton would take a little while to fully open up with Margaret and show her the same warmth that she reserved for her children but Margaret knew that she was truly welcome into the family and for now that was more than she could ask for.

At the sound of excited footsteps, they both turned their heads towards the door.

"Margaret!" Fanny appeared at the door. "Oh, thank God!" she rushed forward and gave Margaret a happy hug, throwing them both back into the sofa.

"I knew John would stop you!" she laughed, quickly sitting properly before her mother could scold her.

When Thornton came downstairs, he could hear Margaret's voice from the hall. She was telling his family about her brother and her cousin and aunt in London and sharing her immediate plans. Earlier in the evening, when he had seen her standing alone at her father's grave, he had been consumed with the need to bring her home. To a family.

He stood near the door happy just to gaze at her from across the room as she sat in his home, with his family. As if she had always belonged there.

* * *

It was late in the evening when Thornton escorted Margaret back to the house in Crampton. They walked in companionable silence as they followed the progress of the lamplighter who was lighting the lamps on the street.

"I wonder if we would have argued so much if we had met in different circumstances," Margaret mused.

"You mean, if you had not come to the mill."

She nodded. "We were supposed to arrive in Milton the week earlier. We planned to stay at the hotel and look at the houses we had marked."

He smiled as he considered it. "If I had met you at the hotel."

"Yes, what would we have talked about," she wondered.

"The horrible wallpaper," he suggested.

She laughed. "You had the rooms re-papered, didn't you?"

He nodded. "I would have informed you that I took the liberty of changing the paper and silently hoped you would approve of the new design."

"And I would have thought you rather high-handed for getting them changed without consulting us."

When he didn't say anything, she laughed aloud. "There goes our chance for a civil conversation."

"Not quite. I had always been quite tolerant of your opinions even when they were grossly misinformed," he said.

"Oh please!" she scoffed. "_To form an opinion on the basis of a single incident does not speak very highly of you_," she said in a more than fair imitation of his voice.

"You remember that," he asked laughing.

"Every word! Nobody had ever spoken to me in such a tone before, so of course I remember. You were lucky I didn't empty the sugar pot into—" Margaret clamped her mouth shut, realising with a mental slap what she had said.

And sure enough, he narrowed his eyes. "I wondered about that for long. What exactly did I say that day to provoke such temper?"

Dear Lord, how embarrassing to admit to that and today of all days. Margaret visibly cheered up and began walking swiftly when she saw that they were only a few steps away from home.

Intrigued, he slowed down his pace to arrest hers. "Margaret?"

"Can you please forget it?" she appealed.

"No."

"You will think it very silly," she hedged.

He seemed even more intrigued. "I won't."

Mentally resolving to kill him if he laughed, she reluctantly turned around to face him. "You were walking with Ann Latimer that day." She immediately winced. Saying it aloud made her jealousy seem even more absurd and baseless. He had never shown the slightest interest in Ann, although that didn't stop Ann from throwing herself at him at every available opportunity. Margaret grimaced at the thought. She stole a glance at him to see his reaction.

He seemed strangely quiet and thoughtful. He caught her eye. "It is very gratifying to hear that you were jealous," he confessed.

She stepped back, eyeing him curiously.

"That's not quite the right thing to say, is it?" he said with a smile. "I feared that ours would be an unequal love. That you would never love me the way I wished you would. I thought I would simply have to wear you down with my persistence."

In the silence that followed, all Margaret could think was that for someone who always spoke what was on her mind, she had never spoken what was in her heart.

"It has never been unequal," she said, "just unspoken."

"I know that now. I did not say that to make you… "

"I know," she smiled as she reached for his hand. She loved that he rarely wore gloves even though he always carried them in his pocket. And she loved that she can now slip her hand into his warm grasp whenever she wanted to.

Surprise flared in his blue eyes as she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

He found himself instinctively closing the little space between them. They were at her doorstep. The street may be empty but somebody might be at their window. But just now he couldn't make himself care about propriety, as if that was all he had done in the last twenty-four hours. But look where it got him.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked but she was smiling as well.

His response was to take her face in his hands and kiss her.


	40. Chapter 40

Margaret stood at the railing, gazing out at the sea. They would arrive in Cadiz soon and she could barely contain her excitement.

She glanced at Thornton who was sitting on the deck chair, engrossed in his book. How he managed to read while she felt queasy from the pitch and roll of the sea she will never know but he certainly cut a dashing figure. She took a moment to admire her husband.

Her husband, she thought with a swell of love and pride and a touch of wonder.

A year ago, even a few months ago, the idea would have been fantastical. But then suddenly what had seemed fantastical had become gloriously real and everything since then felt as though it were enveloped in happiness.

It had started with that incredible afternoon and the trip next day to London to announce her engagement. As she had predicted, her aunt did have a lot of questions but Margaret guessed all her happiness must have been shining in eyes because Aunt Shaw stopped with the questions and started talking about engagement dinner and wedding date.

Edith had a sly _I-knew-it _look on her face the entire time but was delighted that her headstrong cousin had finally succumbed to love and as only a sister can had proceeded to tease her rather shamelessly about it. Henry had offered her his congratulations before taking his leave. Margaret didn't see him for the rest of her visit. Mr Bell, who had been in London, had been delighted and relieved by the news, so much so that he agreed to stay on with his doctor for the full treatment.

Thornton had come to London to accompany her back to Milton and had surprised her with a stunning emerald engagement ring. She had wanted a proper engagement after all, he'd reminded her.

If Margaret had any lingering apprehensions about sharing a home with Mrs Thornton, it had all been laid to rest upon her return from London. The preparation for Fanny's wedding had unexpectedly brought them closer. As Fanny's closest friend and John's affianced bride, Margaret had found herself spending a great deal of time at the Thornton house and getting to know her future mother-in-law better.

They had married two months after their engagement and three weeks after Fanny and Andrew's wedding. The newlyweds had just returned from their honeymoon and it seemed like the perfect time for Margaret and John to get married.

The wedding had been a small but elegant affair. Aunt Shaw, Edith and Capt. Lennox along with baby Sholto had come to Milton for the wedding. Mr Bell gave Margaret away. After the wedding breakfast, the two had left for Helstone where they'd spent a few days. They had decided to wait till they heard from Fred to plan a proper wedding trip.

Upon their return from Helstone, they had found a letter from Cadiz waiting for them. Of course, Fred would be delighted to receive them. He had taken up Mr Barbour's offer and was settling into his new life. So Margaret and Thornton included a couple of days in Cadiz as part for their trip. From Cadiz, they would travel to France.

Although she had been married for only a month, Margaret found that married life suited her quite well. Her days had a comfortable pattern. Together with Hannah, she would spend the mornings instructing the household staff on the tasks for the day and deciding the menu. Margaret saw no reason to make any change to either the routine or the household that Hannah had set up and run smoothly for so many years. She assisted Hannah with tasks that the old woman found exhausting and took on any new responsibilities that came along.

Margaret would devote a few afternoons every week to the school, sorting out any administrative issues, checking on students' progress and reading stories to the children in the evening. After the mill closed for the day, Thornton would go to the school. It was something he used to do during their engagement and it soon became a part of his routine. The children were used to seeing him stand in the back of the room and listen as Margaret read out the stories, while the school staff found it terribly romantic and sighed dreamily. Margaret teased him about but he would tease her right back by pointing out that she rather enjoyed being the subject of such envy. At which point, she should would call him out for _his_ vanity. Suffice it to say, it was a routine that neither planned to relinquish.

* * *

Fred stood on the dockside, scanning the passengers disembarking from the ship. He spotted his sister quickly. She was looking at the crowd below and a moment later, she saw him. They waved excitedly at each other and she pointed him out to Thornton.

Fred watched their progress as they made their way down the gangplank. The two seemed very much in tune as Thornton quietly guided Margaret through the crowd with his fingertips on her back. They made an extraordinarily handsome and happy couple. Even from this distance, he could feel the happiness that they seemed to radiate.

The second Margaret stepped on land, she ran towards him. He caught her in a tight embrace.

"I can't believe you are here," he said putting her back on her feet. "And a married woman, with a husband in tow," he grinned at her. Margaret gave him a bashful smile.

Fred turned to Thornton and extended his hand, "Happy to finally meet you."

"As am I," Thornton said, shaking his hand.

Thornton quietly regarded the young man whom he had mistakenly thought his rival. The brother and sister had identical dark brown hair with a touch of auburn. Fred had the same thoughtful look as Mr Hale, he noted.

"How was the journey?" Fred asked, once they had collected the luggage and packed it in the carriage. "Was the crossing peaceful?"

"It was. Uncommonly so, from what I understand," Thornton imparted.

"And did you enjoy the journey?" Fred asked Margaret.

"I liked it on the deck but—" Margaret mimicked the waves with her hands "—it is unsettling."

That made Fred chuckle. "You will get used to it. You are a Hale."

Margaret looked outside the window taking in the new sights and sounds. Cadiz was so completely different from any place that she had seen—the sweeping view of the sea, the charming narrow lanes, the whitewashed houses, the relaxed and cheerful people. She turned to Thornton to see his reaction. They caught each other's eye the same instant and smiled.

"We are almost there," Fred announced. "It is not a big house, but I hope you'll find your room comfortable."

"You don't need to put yourself out on my accord," Thornton offered graciously.

"Really, Fred," Margaret added with a slight roll of her eyes. "It's just us."

Fred cocked a brow at her. "You, I'm perfectly happy to let sleep on the floor," he said.

Grinning, Margaret punched his arm in retaliation.

Thornton leaned back in his seat, enjoying their interaction. It was interesting seeing this side of her. The difference in age between Margaret and Fred was not very great and it showed in their utter ease with each other and their banter. He could see why Margaret must have found it hard to understand the formality that had existed between himself and Fanny.

The carriage soon rolled to a halt. Stepping out, Margaret sucked in her breath. The house was a small but pretty villa but what took her breath away was the riot of pink bougainvillea against the pristine white walls. The effect was stunning.

Fred showed them inside and introduced them to the housekeeper who came once a day to clean and cook. While Fred spoke with the housekeeper, Margaret wandered over to a desk to examine the miniatures kept on it. Thornton joined her and picked up one of the little portraits that looked like Margaret. She must have been about ten when it was painted. He smiled to himself, she had always been beautiful.

"Rosita wants to know if you need a maid," Fred asked from the door. "I'd assumed you would bring yours along. Doesn't Aunt Shaw travel with an army of girls?"

"She does, but I don't like the unnecessary fuss," Margaret replied.

"Well, do you need one? Rosita can arrange it." The housekeeper began telling Fred something and he turned his attention to her.

"I can offer my services," Thornton said, leaning down to speak in her ear.

"With ironing and mending?" she teased with a smile.

"With dressing and undressing," he whispered, his mouth deliberately brushing her ear.

She caught her breath, her smile replaced by a heated blush. Her blush got more heated as she remembered him kneeling at her feet, his fingers trailing up to the edge of her stocking.

"Maggie?" Fred poked his head back in.

Startled, she snapped her head up.

"The maid," he reminded.

"I will manage without one," Margaret said in a perfectly casual voice.

Once Fred had the two settled in their room, the three had a leisurely lunch. Margaret was delighted that Fred and Thornton seemed to get along well without her help. They found plenty of subjects of mutual interest, so she left the two men to talk while she took out her pencils and drew the flowers.

In the evening, Fred took them out and showed them around the main plaza and the local market. Margaret walked ahead, stopping occasionally to look at the displays while Thornton and Fred strolled behind her conversing.

Margaret had noticed a group of girls on the opposite side of the plaza. One girl in particular had been quietly stealing glances at Fred.

"Who is she?" Margaret finally asked, when this went on for some time.

"Who?" Fred followed her gaze and turned to look at the group. "Dolores Barbour," he answered and went back to whatever he was explaining to Thornton.

Margaret continued looking at the young girl. They caught each other's eye and the girl bobbed a quick nod in acknowledgement before turning back to her friends.

* * *

After bidding Fred goodnight, Margaret made her way to the guest bedroom. John had retired early to give her and Fred time to talk alone. She softly pushed open the door of their room, careful not to make any noise. He was a light sleeper and the slightest sound would wake him. But she found him sitting with his book.

"Oh, you are not sleeping," she remarked as she let herself in and shut the door.

"When have I slept before you?" he asked, closing the book.

"I thought you might be tired." She set the lamp on the table. "What time is it?"

"Just after midnight."

She sat down on the stool to remove her boots and then padded over to where their bags were kept and pulled out a nightgown.

He never understood why she bothered with it. She would not be wearing it. He intended to comment upon it but he noticed that she was lost in thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

She looked up. "About that girl in the square."

"What about her?"

"You didn't notice?" she asked surprised that he hadn't. "She had been looking at Fred the entire time we were in that square," she said, her eyes sparkling with meaning. "And Fred _knew_ which of those girls I was asking about," she continued with girlish eagerness, "He didn't even wait to see who I was talking about."

She looked at him for his response.

He raised one amused brow. "You sound like Fanny."

She looked utterly indignant at that. "You!" She looked around for something and then grabbed the first thing she found—her hairbrush—and threw it at him.

Smiling, he caught it neatly in one hand. "The element of surprise is clearly not your strong suit."

She was trying very hard to be cross but drat it all, now she wanted to laugh. Hiding her smile, she turned around in her stool and began unpinning her hair.

Thornton leaned back to watch her. It was a nightly ritual he loved. As the pins came out, her hair would loosen with nothing to hold their weigh. She would shake her head when she had pulled out the last pin and her hair would tumble down her back and fall around her face.

He had been right—her hair was not curly but it was not straight either. It had a few loose waves so that when she moved her head, it made the long, cascading mass ripple. He loved waking up to it fanned out on his arm. He loved running his fingers through it, feeling their weight and softness. And he loved it when it fell around them creating a private haven as she bent over him.

Margaret pushed her hair away from her face and looked at the table top and then around, searching for—

"Looking for this?" he asked holding out her hairbrush.

She got up and reached out, her hand coming within inches of his when she suddenly yanked it back before he could grab her wrist and pull her into the bed with him.

"The element of surprise," she said folding her arms and giving him a smug smile at having foiled his little trick.

Thornton allowed her a moment of triumph before he got up and bending down, scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

"John!" she cried in surprise but finally gave up laughing.

He settled against her, propping himself on one elbow. "So you would like to meddle," he continued their conversation as if the interruption hadn't occurred at all.

"Horribly," she confessed.

"But you won't."

"No," she admitted ruefully. "When I asked him about her, he said she is Mr Barbour's daughter and Mr Barbour is his employer."

Thornton smiled down at her. "The last time I heard someone say something like that, he married my sister."

"I know," she said with a happy sigh. "I want him to have someone to love and care for him."

"Don't worry about Fred. Give him some time. From what I gathered, he has a very promising career here. Mr Barbour should have no objections," he assured her.

"I hope so," she smiled.

"So what are our plans for tomorrow?"

"We will go to the beach and attend a puppet show in the evening," Margaret said, the enthusiasm returning in her voice.

"A puppet show?"

"Yes. It sounds interesting. It's called Tia Norica—Aunt Norica," she translated helpfully.

"Very well, madam," he said, dropping a kiss on her nose.

"Cadiz is so lovely and so different. We must come here again."

"Mmm-hmm," he kissed the tip of her nose again, and then her cheek and her jaw.

"And we must visit Helstone again," she continued while she was still capable of words. "I never showed you the place properly."

They had not gone out or explored much during their short stay in Helstone, although Thornton had cheekily assured her that he had been perfectly delighted with the sights that he had seen.

"We have all the time in the world," he said and repeated the kisses on the other side of her face.

Margaret felt a delicious warmth spread throughout her body. She stretched lazily, feeling completely and utterly content. This is what she wanted—this love and this friendship as well as the quarrels and the disagreements that she was sure they will have a fair share of. But their lives will be rich and full and that was all that truly mattered.

"I love you," she whispered, before lifting her head to kiss his chin. She nuzzled into the open collar of his shirt, deeply breathing in his scent.

He fisted his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her away to look at her.

"I love you too," he said before taking her mouth in a searing and passionate kiss.

-THE END-


End file.
